


Cherry Cola

by PrettyYoungThing



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Coran is a gift, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay Keith (Voltron), Happy Ending, Hunk (Voltron) is so Pure, Insecure Lance (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Lance (Voltron), Pidge | Katie Holt is Savage, Pining, Slow Burn, Tags Are Hard, broganes, this is gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-03-02 15:39:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 51,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13321281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyYoungThing/pseuds/PrettyYoungThing
Summary: Lance didn't quite realize how long he was observing this mystifying new addition to the class (or how obvious he was being about it) until the dark-haired boy turned to him with a raised eyebrow."Do you always stare this long at people?''~~~Or: a story of two oblivious college students and their exasperated friends involving pining, sarcastic comments, laser tag, and a certain soft drink.





	1. Fishnets Versus Math Textbooks

Lance McClain was currently booking it to his first college class of the semester. Not the optimal start to the school year.

Why? He had previously set six alarms for that morning, and in a haze decided to snooze them all. The only reason he was able to get up at all was because Hunk (his best friend, roommate, and a true godsend) shook him awake before he left. Leave it to him to wake up 20 minutes before class started on the first day of school.

Lance had then forced down a frozen waffle and ran down the hallway and two flights of stairs to reach the harsh sunlight of a truly bleak Monday. Not a cloud in the sky and a pleasant 75 degrees, but still bleak- purely because it was a Monday.

Praying to the almighty gods of unlucky college students, he wove in and out of the last stragglers heading into the large brick building. He dodged an elderly lady with hair pulled up into a tight bun and a cardigan that definitely deserved to be left in 1966, who was pushing a cart of books into the building like she had the whole year to spare.

Lance dashed into the building as fast as his long legs could carry him and frantically scanned the hallway for room E-16. His eyes landed on a door at the end of the hallway and he took off, beat-up shoes squeaking on the tiled floor and textbook tightly clutched in his arm.

He slid into the Astrology classroom with two minutes to spare, claiming an empty seat in the second row closest to the left wall and promptly dropping his backpack rather unceremoniously onto the floor. Still catching his breath, Lance surveyed the classroom for anyone he deemed worthy of interest.

Two rows back sat a girl with olive skin and short dark hair, dressed in a maroon crop top and beat-up jeans. Chunky gold earrings hung from her ears and swung lazily next to the sides of her head. Her eyes twinkled contentedly as she chatted idly with the person sitting beside her. She seemed to have an easygoing and friendly air about her, one that made heads turn and people to listen to what she was saying.

The girl was talking animatedly to the female TA next to her, who was equally attractive. She had beautiful silver hair that flowed down her ebony shoulders. The TA wore a flowery yellow blouse and loose black and white striped pants with delicate white sandals. She seemed very graceful and serene, attracting not-so-subtle glances from many of the boys in the room.

In the back corner of the classroom he spotted Pidge. Her small frame was, as usual, shrouded in a floppy green hoodie. As per usual, Pidge was typing furiously on her computer, only pausing once or twice to fidget with her large glasses.

Lance balled up a stray piece of paper he found laying at the bottom of his backpack (he was, admittedly, not the neatest person) and lobbed it at Pidge, striking her right in the middle of the forehead. Her eyes shot up from their computer screen, obviously annoyed with having her concentration broken, before meeting those of Lance and flipping him the bird. He jabbed his finger at the open seat next to him, hoping she would sit there instead of some random stranger.

Pidge gave him a long look and then shook her head. It seemed she was not going to give up the optimal seat in the back row so Lance wouldn't be lonely. Some friend. Lance huffed in impatience.

He checked his watch. Only a minute until the most academically, mentally, physically, and emotionally grueling four-plus years of his life began. Oh joy, he could not wait (read: he was absolutely dreading it).

To his surprise, Lance wasn't the last person into the classroom. The door opened no more than half a minute before the bell rang and in slid another boy. He tentatively looked around the room for a seat before taking the last one left, next to Lance. Hell yeah. Forget sitting next to Pidge- his attention was fully turned to his newest classmate. And oh boy, he was definitely not the worst person to be seated next to.

Mystery boy had inky-black hair that reached his shoulders and fell messily in front his his face. Was it a mullet? Talk about an eighties time capsule. Oh well, Lance would just have to look past it. He had fair, unblemished skin and a jawline that could surely cut steel (what? Lance just knew how to appreciate good-looking people was all). He stared straight ahead with piercing violet eyes framed by thick, dark lashes. Lance had never seen anyone with eyes that color- was he wearing colored contacts? Regardless, they were unique, and he definitely made the color work in his favor. 

He wore a plain black t-shirt under a scarlet and white jacket with pale yellow stripes. The jacket was an odd length, only reaching to about the middle of his waist. Simple black jeans matched his shirt and were cut off at the middle of his shins by boots of the same color as his jacket, minus the yellow. 

Lance tried to admire this odd new specimen as covertly as possible- and he was pretty sure that he was succeeding. That was, of course, until the boy opened his mouth.

"Do you always stare this long at people?"

~~~

Keith was having a perfectly normal day up until he walked into his astrology class.

He'd woken up, brushed his teeth and tried his best to tame his mane of black hair, eaten some toast, left his dorm, and even had enough time to grab a cup of coffee from the cafe on campus.

While he was heading to class, he was almost bowled over by some dude who was running like he was being chased down by an angry mob. However, Keith had one of those rare spiritual experiences that morning where he had essentially transcended from a state of panic into one of complete calm, so he withheld himself from doing anything more than flipping the dude off.

He walked into class with only a shred of time before class started. It was his first day of college and he was going to make sure it went as smoothly as possible with minimal interaction.

Plus, it didn't hurt that he had known the professor practically since he'd learned to walk, so hopefully he would cut him a little slack time-wise. Nevertheless, he made it into the classroom right before the bell.

Of course, the class was full but for one seat- directly next to the guy who nearly plowed him down. The day hadn't even started yet and his hopes for a day of smooth sailing were out the window and had taken up residence somewhere in a landfill. With any luck, he could just ignore the apparent marathon runner and focus on the lecture.

It seemed that even though Keith was set on ignoring his classmate, the other guy had decided to throw common courtesy to the wind and ogle him.

He had to admit, the guy next to him wasn't by any means ugly (though the whole steamroll-everyone-in-the-way thing wasn't super charming). He had hair that was the shade of dark caramel and tan skin to match. His frame was lean but not skinny, with long legs and broad shoulders- if Keith had to choose a word to describe his build, "swimmer" would be a pretty accurate choice. The boy was watching him with thinly veiled interest through eyes that shone brilliantly blue, like the color one would see while flying over the ocean. 

And the incredulous expression on his face when Keith called him out on staring was pretty hilarious too, though he kept his poker face in so as not to let him know.

After Shiro had gone over his spiel about the school year and course expectations, he strode over to his desk and leafed through the papers on top of it. After a minute or so of rifling through loose pages, he seemed to find what he was looking for. Shiro's eyes then glued themselves to the crumpled paper in his hands as he read off what was obviously a name.

"Peter Albeck?"

A boy with thin, spiky blond hair sitting in front of Keith timidly raised his hand. "Here."

Shiro's eyes flicked up from his sheet again as he flashed the boy a welcoming smile, then dropped again to read off the next name. "Shay Balmera?"

"Here." A voice airily responded from a couple rows back. Upon further inspection, it belonged to a girl with ash brown hair in a maroon crop top. 

Keith's attention gradually dwindled and he occupied himself by counting the amount of tiny holes pricked in the ceiling panels above his head. He had just reached forty five when Shiro's voice snapped him out of his tired daze. 

"Keith Kogane?"

"Here," he said. Keith knew that Shiro had already seen and recognized him earlier on, going off of the warm smile playing on the older boy's lips. Next to Keith, the blue-eyed boy glanced over for the tiniest fraction of a second when his name was rattled off. 

A few names later, a kid in the back of the class with the thick glasses now had a name- Pidge. Keith had paid attention to Pidge's name for two reasons: firstly, because of what an unusual name it was, and secondly because of the owner themself. He couldn't quite decide if Pidge was a boy or girl- not that he really minded, he just preferred to get a reading on people before an interaction they would inevitably have later down the line.

He zoned out again, and didn't really process many other names except for "Lance McClain". The tan boy next to him raised his arm confidently and shot his teacher what appeared to be an attempt at a winning smile. 

After that, they plunged into their discussion of the basics of astronomy- very basic material, but a good refresher from last year.

Personally, Keith loved astronomy. He was a total NASA kid when he was younger, stargazing up until he was put to bed and constantly checking out books from various libraries on nebulas, planetary systems, and everything in between. He even had a NASA pin from when he was 7 that he had worn every day without fail.

There was something so calming and serene about the night sky that Keith could always find solace in. No matter how terrible his day was, he could always gaze out at the stars during the nighttime hours. The idea of space mystified him as well- who knew what was out there? Hundreds of nebulas, with hundreds galaxies containing hundreds of planets; it was a further stretch of the imagination to say that the Earth was the only planet with intelligent life than to say that it wasn't. It was simple logic. It was no surprise when Keith finished top of his astronomy class in his senior year of high school, though he still felt the tips his ears grow warm at the praise from his family and Shiro. 

At the end of class, Shiro had decided to give the class a collective verbal pop quiz to get a gauge for how much they knew. Keith barred himself from answering every question; he refused to come off as too eager, though he did love the class (in fact, it was the only class he had ever even remotely enjoyed). He limited himself to two, which he answered correctly both times. He noticed that Lance had rolled his eyes, apparently still bitter about being called out for staring.

Lance, however, seemed like he was simply itching to prove himself to Shiro, and faithfully raised his hand for the most difficult question. Upon Lance getting it half wrong, Keith tried to withhold a small snicker. He wasn't very successful in his attempt, and earned himself a death stare from the next seat over.

He matched the blue eyes of the guy next to him with his own for the second time that class and held his challenging stare.

"What," Lance muttered through gritted teeth, "is your issue with me?"

Keith bristled at this comment. "Nothing, aside from that you nearly knocked me flat this morning during your mad dash to class."

"I woke up twenty minutes before, what do you expect?"

"And whose fault is that?"

A girl with close-cropped electric blue hair and a lip piercing behind them leaned forward in her seat. Her cool breath tickled the back of Keith's neck as she spoke and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 

"I don't know if you guys noticed," she whispered, smirking, "but the two of you aren't being as quiet as you think you are."

Keith looked around. Indeed, everyone in a two-seat radius was half-assing an attempt to seem like they weren't watching them argue. His eyes darted around, delivering each captive audience member a cold stare.

"Whatever." He straightened in his seat and stared forwards at the board, waiting for the bell to ring and signal the end of his first class.

Finally, the bell did ring. Students wasted no time in haphazardly packing up their backpacks and bags, standing up, and leaving the classroom in groups of twos and threes- chatting about how "hot" and "model-worthy" their new professor was. Keith rolled his eyes. Shiro was going to be quite the topic of the discussion among his peers, it seemed.

He shoved the remnants of his notes into his backpack and zipped it up, making his way to the front of the room. Shiro was currently talking the new TA that Keith had seen sitting against the wall earlier.

Shiro and Keith had essentially known each other since before Keith was out of kindergarten, and had grown up as if the two of them were siblings. When Shiro, about five years Keith's senior, left for college, it was definitely a jolt to the younger boy.

Therefore, when Shiro told Keith that he would be starting his first teaching job as a college professor in the fall, it was no secret among his family members that the news heavily biased where Keith would go to school. This was the first day Keith had seen Shiro face to face since mid-summer; he had been more than looking forward to seeing his stand-in older brother again.

He wove in between desks up to the professor's desk and was greeted by a huge grin, scrunching up the scar that ran across the bridge of the older boy's nose. 

"What's up, little man?"

Apparently, Shiro hadn't forgotten his ridiculous nickname for Keith. He rolled his eyes at the question, though he fought down the beginnings of a smile. It was good to see his oldest friend again.

"I'm not little, I'm 18!"

"Whatever you say," Shiro taunted, eyes shining with lighthearted amusement. He gestured to the TA standing beside him. "Keith, meet Allura. Allura, meet Keith!"

Allura had bushy white hair that flowed gracefully down her shoulders and back. Her eyes were a light shade of teal that set off her darker skin. She had a dainty, pointed nose that was wrinkled with amusement, most likely at the stiff expression on Keith's face that he quickly fixed into a friendlier one. 

"Hi," Keith said with an awkward grimace that he prayed could pass as a smile. Allura smiled brightly in return, waving a delicate hand. 

"Nice to meet you," she said. Her voice was light and cheerful, holding an accent that Keith struggled to place. British, maybe?

"Keith's my honorary younger brother," Shiro explained. "I've practically known him since he learned to walk."

"I was older than that," Keith corrected, half-offended. "You're not much older than me, so stop talking about me like we have an age gap of twenty years."

"Sorry, sorry," Shiro chuckled. He raised a cheeky eyebrow before leaning over to Allura. "He's just insecure because of how young he is," he loudly whispered into her ear, eliciting a small laugh.

"Hey Allura, I'm sure you'd just love to hear the bubble bath story, wouldn't you?" Keith batted his eyes innocently at Shiro.

"No, I'm sure she wouldn't," Shiro hurriedly cut in. 

"Ooh, do tell!" Allura leaned forward playfully and winked at Keith.

"So this one time-" 

"So how do you like your dorm?" Shiro loudly interjected, glaring at Keith. He smirked at the older boy in wry amusement, noting how obviously he diverted the conversation away from the potentially embarrassing retelling. Allura looked at him suspiciously, having caught on to the not very subtle conversation changer. 

"Pretty well; I'm still working on getting unpacked," Keith admitted. Truthfully, unpacking wouldn't take all that long. He'd only brought a few things from home, and they were mostly small trinkets or mementos that he'd amassed over the years, such as photographs of him as a kid or his favorite rocket ship model. The plan was to probably keep them somewhere out of sight- Keith would rather pitch himself into a ravine than let Shiro know that he was feeling sentimental. 

"if you want any help, feel free to give me a call and I'd be more than happy to give you a hand," the taller boy offered, brushing a tuft of white hair out of his eyes. 

"'Thanks Shiro," Keith replied, knowing fully well how mortified he'd be if his friend helped him to unpack. "I should probably head, but I'll definitely catch you up on some of his little adventures." He gave Allura a knowing look and jabbed his finger at Shiro before ducking to dodge a playful swat.

Allura patted the taller boy on the shoulder and turned to Keith. "Don't worry; I'll keep him reigned in," she said playfully.

"Good to hear," Keith called over his shoulder, flashing a grin at Shiro and Allura, the former having turned approximately four shades darker since the start of their conversation.

~~~

"Can you believe that guy?" Lance complained. "He was all up in my face like 'Do you always stare this long at people?' What an asshat!"

"To be fair, you were looking at him like he was the best thing since Beyoncé's pregnancy announcement," Pidge replied without looking up from her screen.

"Was not!"

"Were too. You looked at him for like, a solid seven seconds. It looked like you were trying some FBI profiling technique on him," she said offhandedly, still absorbed in whatever she was working on. Probably hacking some ultra-secret government database or something.

Lance huffed and shoved his hands into the pockets of his olive-colored jacket. He was so not "staring" at Keith. He was just acknowledging his looks, which he did with practically every human being he came into contact with. He was a hormonal teenage guy, so it was kind of his job to observe good-looking people. The asshole didn't know what he was talking about.

"My own friend turned against me in favor of the mullet-wearing jerk! How dare you," he accused, giving her the stink eye.

"Ooh, that one stung," Pidge deadpanned, and he stuck out his tongue at her.

"Seriously, though! Who in this day and age wears a mullet ?" 

"Pidge, Lance!" a voice called from Lance's right. He turned and saw Hunk waving them over from a small table at one of the campus' cafes. 

Hunk was pretty much the embodiment of a nicer Gordon Ramsey during his broke college student years. Seriously. That guy could whip up a five-star meal out of uncooked noodles and almond milk. At best, Lance could make Kraft mac-n-cheese without setting it on fire. Additionally, Hunk had acted as Lance's impulse control, wingman, and pep-talk giver since they had first become friends in third grade. 

They had met the first day of school. Hunk was a transfer from a neighboring district and spent the first half of class by himself, quietly doing his work alone. That is, until Lance sat next to him and pointed to his Spider-Man shirt, eagerly asking if Hunk liked Spider-Man too. Hunk had said yes, but pointed out that Iron Man was obviously better, which Lance vehemently protested (this argument was still ongoing, even into their freshman year of college). The two had talked and played together until school was over, at which point Lance had said, "see you tomorrow!", a toothy grin highlighting his face. 

From that day forward, the two were inseparable. That talked about anything and everything and played possibly every variation of tag under the sun. Hunk was also around to witness Lance's first attempts at flirting (though pretty much all fell flat), including his devastating defeat at the hands of Maria Sanchez. After that one, Lance had made Hunk swear never to tell another soul, and Hunk dutifully complied- except for one time. 

Pidge (her name was Katie, but she had always hated it, claiming it was a "pansy name") met Hunk in sixth grade during their first science experiment of the year, when the two were partnered up to make a baking soda and vinegar solution that could produce a lava-like effect. Both Pidge and Hunk excelled at science, so needless to say their goal was reached in record time. While waiting for the others to finish, they began mixing together various substances and observing the reactions, which went fine until they found themselves covered in a fizzing clear concoction. Turns out, they had also managed to hit about six other pairs with the liquid, earning them each a trip to after-school detention. 

Later, Hunk had invited her to come sit with him and Lance during lunch each day moving forward, and she had taken him up on his offer. Lunches turned into trips to the arcade, which turned into snowball fights, which turned into multiple plots to conquer the world. It turned out she also shared their love of multiplayer videogames, so they were constantly talking online or hanging out at one another's houses after school. She was the one to introduce them to the latest virtual reality game, Voltron, which sucked up countless nights of their time as they, as Lance so eloquently put it, "kicked Galra ass". 

Pidge's brother, Matt, was just as much fun as she was. He never refused to hang out with the three of them, even though he was five years older. Matt was basically a taller, more experienced kid. He and Lance had a special bond that had developed through Star Wars (and a lot of lightsaber duels), while Hunk had connected with him through binge-watching Chopped and screaming at the contestants for trying to make a vinaigrette with half a minute on the clock.

Over the years of their friendship, the three had become as close as siblings (even though Lance arguably had plenty). Pidge's mother had even let them stay over for sleepovers, which was virtually unheard of within the realm of coed friendships. During their junior year of high school, they had collectively searched for a college that would suit each of them. Lance had then found Garrison University, and showed Pidge and Hunk the brochure. After touring the school and attending various recruitment meetings, the trio decided it was the perfect school for them.

After Lance had finished complaining about the self-absorbed asshole who he was now doomed to sit next to in class (not without some interjections from Pidge to keep the story from being too heavily exaggerated), the three of them headed off to their respective classes.

Lance had algebra next and he was considering dropping out of school and becoming an exotic dancer as a very tempting possibility. Anything would beat sitting in a classroom and solving for the square root of whatever, even strutting around on a stage in stiletto heels and thigh-highs. And hey, it brought in the dough. He stared gloomily at the bright red cover of his textbook, the glossy surface seeming to cruelly mock him. Too bad he didn't have any experience or fishnet leggings. He didn't expect that a beat up looking backpack and some folders would get him very far in the world of seduction. Looked like math was what it was going to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! It's me. I'll try and update this fic mayyyybe every week, more or less? I'm kinda busy a lot, but I'll try my best! Thanks for making it through chapter uno, and I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> (Edit: I already edited this chapter and will not hesitate to do so again- this first chapter sucks. I promise the next one is way better.)


	2. Road Trips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha WOW this was such a mess! I'm so sorry for not updating like I said I would!! Three million things came up so to make it up to you guys, I basically blasted out a chapter that's quadruple the length of my last one in the span of a weekend. My search history is still all "synonyms for..." so I hope that at least helps a little. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy!

Keith was honestly, truly, legitimately considering setting his paper on fire and just watching it burn itself to a crisp on his desk. Seriously. And he was what- maybe half an hour in?

His English class was taught by a middle-aged man with possibly the absolute worst monotone he had ever heard. His professor wore a worn beige jacket that did nothing but wash his skin tone out, gray slacks, and brown loafers. His class was about as fun as he looked.

It didn't help that Keith was extremely hungry and the guy beside him smelled like a walking bakery. He looked down morosely as his stomach growled and muttered "shut up," for good measure.

"Hey man, you doing alright?" Keith looked up again and met the warm eyes of the guy next to him.

"Aside from the fact that this professor has the looks of a piece of plaster and the charm to match, I guess I'm doing alright," he replied. His classmate's face broke into a dry grin.

"Tell me about it, dude. I think I've dozed off half a dozen times already and his intro speech isn't even over yet."

"Is he still talking about how we'll be taking tests or have we moved on to grading yet? I think he lost me at about the five minute mark," Keith lamented and gave a sharp glare at the syllabus on his table.

"I don't even know. Plus, I'm hungry and I tend to disassociate when I go for a full morning without eating. Up to share half a sandwich?" The guy asked, holding half of a turkey and lettuce sandwich out to him.

"Are you sure? I don't want to take any of your food if you're hungry," Keith asked tentatively.

"That won't be a problem. Just take the sandwich, man." His new guardian angel insisted.

"Oh god, thanks so much." Keith took half of the sandwich and hastily bit into it. "What's your name, by the way?"

"Hunk Garret. And yours is...?"

"Keith Kogane. You make one hell of a sandwich, by the way."

Hunk waved away his compliment. "That's just the hunger speaking. Anything'll taste good if you haven't eaten in long enough."

"Seriously, though. I can barely make cereal." Both of these statements were true. The sandwich was good- and not just by crappy college student standards. Keith also lacked an affinity for cooking and basically working to make anything edible, which was probably going to be an issue later down the line.

"I'm gonna stop you right there. How do you make your cereal?" Hunk interjected, eyebrows knit together in a look of rather intense concentration.

"What?"

"Like, what order do you put it in? Cereal before milk, or the other way around?"

"Oh." Keith paused a moment and thought. "I put the milk in, then pour the cereal on top."

"Ok, I'll have to ask for my sandwich back, now. No buddy of mine is gonna make cereal the wrong way like a heathen." Hunk narrowed his eyes in mock anger.

"That's just the way it goes, dude. The strong ones are the ones willing to be different."

"There's different, and there's being a complete and utter freak of nature. I thought that people who put the milk in first were like some kind of legend mothers tell little kids to make them behave," Hunk countered.

"Whatever. Someday, I'll make cereal for you the right way, and you'll see just how right I am." Keith finished off his half of the sandwich and dusted the crumbs off of his hands.

"Challenge accepted. Speaking of which, you should drop by my dorm sometime and I can teach you how to cook. I've gotta teach my other two friends so you're more than welcome to join." Hunk scribbled his dorm building, floor and room number down on a piece of lined paper, thought a moment, and added his phone number too.

"Thanks. I think I'll take you up on that one since I'm still having problems with boiling water," Keith laughed.

"Sure thing. Just drop by whenever you feel like it," Hunk said, smiling. He had a bright smile that reached all the way up his face to his eyes.

"Will do."

~~~

"Hey Pidge!"

"What do you want now?"

"Pass me the bowl of chips, will you?"

"Ugh. You can be so lazy, you know that?"

"I know. I'd like to think it adds to my devilish charm."

Pidge, Lance, and Hunk were sprawled out on the floor of Lance and Hunks' dorm, hunched over their hands of Uno cards. Lance peered down at his draw four card and then at Hunk, who was down to two cards. "Hey, buddy. Sorry to rain on your parade but I can't let you win for the third time in a row," he said smugly, relishing the pained expression on his friend's face.

"Are you kidding me? I only skipped you once this round!" Hunk protested, wearily taking four cards from the deck. His face fell even more than before as he analyzed his apparently unlucky draw.

"Sorry big man. You know how it goes- survival of the fittest and all," Lance gloated.

"Uno!" Pidge's gleeful voice chirped over Lance's. She held up a singular card as both of her opponents' heads snapped in her direction.

"You have to be kidding me," Lance groaned. "Both of you were down to two cards and I was at-" he hastily counted his cards. "six! Do you guys cheat or something?"

"Nah, you just suck at Uno. We've all kind of treated it as a universally-accepted fact," Hunk helpfully pointed out.

"Whatever, I'm hungry. Want to teach me how to make a dish?" Lance's eyes fixated hopefully on Hunk's face as he mustered up the sweetest, most innocent face he could muster.

"Cut the crap, Lance. He's always sold on teaching us how to cook, so you can wipe that horrific attempt at kitten eyes off of your face." Pidge stretched and yawned, then straightened up again.

"Sure, I'd be happy to!" Hunk was already in the kitchen. "I'll need about half an hour to pick a meal and get the ingredients out." He poked his head out of the kitchen for a second as he pointed a ladle at his two friends. "Almost forgot! I invited a guy I met in class over to learn how to cook too, so I'll give him the heads-up."

"Sounds good to me, as long as I get to eat!" Pidge climbed up from the floor onto the worn blue couch and cozied up next to a sunshine yellow pillow, sticking her earbuds into her ears and opening her laptop.

Lance shuffled into his and Hunks' room, having decided that if someone was coming over, he may want to change. For some reason, wearing pajama pants and a t-shirt that resembled Swiss cheese when meeting someone for the first time wasn't yet deemed socially acceptable. Go figure.

About twenty minutes later, a knock sounded from the door. Pidge peeled herself off of the couch while calling "I got it!", though Lance was deep into an article about some juicy J-Lo gossip that just couldn't wait. The new guest, however, could be spared his attention for a minute or two more.

"Hey, man! Good to see you!" Hunk's ever-cheerful voice greeted the mystery visitor. He was met with a friendly response from someone whose voice Lance couldn't quite place. Maybe it was just one of those voices that sort of sounds like half the voices on the planet.

Lance's eyes scanned over the last fragment of the article before he stood up and threw it onto his bed, dusting himself off and giving himself a once-over in the process. First impressions were everything, after all. Time to dial up the charm and wow the new (hopefully cute) visitor.

He opened his bedroom door and adopted his usual air as he walked out into the main room. Hunk was currently blocking his view of their guest, so Lance decided to make his presence known. "How's it going? The name's-"

"Lance?"

~~~

Of course out of all the thousands of people going to this university, Hunk's roommate had to be Lance. Why was Keith's luck so bad? He wasn't entirely sure. Maybe it was karma for the time he got half of his class sick on accident in fourth grade coming back for revenge.

"Keith?" Lance sounded equally shocked. His face was twisted into a half-surprised, half-annoyed expression which didn't compliment his facial structures much.

"You two know each other?" Hunk looked from Keith to Lance and back again hesitantly.

"You could say that," Lance muttered. Well, there went Keith's opportunity at making some new friends. If Lance was so set on hating Keith, then there was no way Hunk and Pidge would invite him over again. He was debating whether or not to say an awkward goodbye and escape out the door when Hunk whacked Lance on the arm with his wooden spoon. "Ow!" Lance yelped.

"That's what you get for being rude! Look at him, you made him uncomfortable," Hunk chastised him. He gestured in Keith's direction with the spoon and he felt his ears get hot at the tips, as they often did when he was embarrassed.

"It's fine, really. I can just get Chinese takeout," Keith offered halfheartedly.

"No way," Pidge interjected. She shot Lace a look and ushered Keith into the kitchen. "If we have to suffer from heatstroke in a cramped kitchen, so do you." Keith smirked at her.

"Well, there goes my escape attempt," he said, earning a snicker from Pidge and a joking glare from Hunk. Lance only scowled and followed them in.

Pidge wasn't lying- the kitchen was small, with only a small window over the sink allowing for a view into the rest of the campus. The walls were a faded beige with scuff marks here and there, various well-loved ladles and cooking utensils lining the area around the tiny stove. Nonetheless, it was a kitchen, and not an unpleasant one either. There was a certain air of comfort in the apartment, and it seemed warm and lively despite only having been used for a couple weeks.

Water bubbled and boiled on top of the stove, filling the kitchen with clouds of hot steam. Hunk flipped through an old cookbook until he found what he was looking for and proudly displayed it to the other three.

"Pasta?" Pidge squinted at the faded page through her wiry glasses.

"Yep! Easy and shouldn't take too long to make, so it's perfect for you guys. We'll start off with basic meals and later move onto more elaborate recipes," Hunk grinned excitedly. Man, did this guy love to cook.

"Sounds good, big guy!" Lance had apparently perked up again at the notion of eating and was no longer looking like someone had poisoned his cat. Keith rolled his eyes. Of course Lance would be the type to get hangry and then brighten up at the mention of a chicken nugget.

"Pidge, you're with me on vegetable-chopping duty. Keith and Lance, you two work on the sauce as soon as we start handing you what we chop up." Hunk handed Keith a large pot that ended up being heavier than it looked and Lance gleefully watched him hoist the gigantic piece of kitchenware onto the stovetop.

The two of them waited for a few minutes by the stove, Keith drumming his fingers on the countertop in an effort to keep himself from engaging with Lance.

"So... a mullet, huh?" So much for that. Keith looked over at Lance dryly, before realizing that the comment sounded more like an observation than an insult.

"It's not a mullet, it's just that I don't like to get haircuts," he retorted. Lance's mouth twisted into his trademark shit-eating grin.

"What? Did you get lice and have to shave your head a few years back?" he taunted.

"I've never gotten lice," Keith growled. This guy just seemed to thrive off of pushing his buttons. "I just like my hair longer."

"So once it gets long enough to braid-"

"Will you shut up about my hair or is this going to be what we talk about for the next hour and a half?" 

"Touchy subject, huh? Who spit in your Cheerios this morning?" Lance remarked with a raised eyebrow. 

"Hop off of each others' dicks, will you?" Pidge called from her station at the cutting board.

"Shut up, Pidge," Lance grumbled, flipping her the bird. Keith said nothing but squinted at the back of her head in as much of a vicious fashion as he could muster.

"Here you go." Hunk handed the two of them bowls of chopped vegetables and carefully measured spices. "Mix in the vegetables slowly and let them simmer while you pour in the herbs and spices, okay?" Keith nodded, as did Lance. He was determined to make this pasta right, even if he had approximately no cooking experience.

For the first few minutes, the two worked in a concentrated silence punctuated by the occasional crackle of water hitting the stovetop. Lance handed Keith some red bell pepper that he gradually stirred in, while Lance would measure out the next amount to be added. After that, they worked in the yellow pepper. Midway into the second deposit into the sauce, Keith turned to Lance.

"Do you want to stir?" he questioned, and it almost looked like Lance smiled at him. Trick of the light, probably.

"Sure, why not?" the two slid by each other, allowing for Lance to get better access to the simmering crimson mixture.

Keith handed him more bell pepper and watched as Lance sprinkled the slices into the sauce and slowly stirred, allowing for them to soften. His arm moved in a steady rhythm as steam rose up and swirled into the air around him. Ok, so maybe Lance could be bearable for like three percent of the time. Preferably when he wasn't constantly talking.

Suddenly, Lance's arm that he was stirring with jerked back, splattering not only him but Keith as well with dozens of small droplets. "Shit!" He quickly set down the spoon he was using and backed away from the stove a couple paces, then groaned as he observed his now crimson-spattered shirt. Keith's black t-shirt was flecked with bits of red pasta sauce as well.

When Lance looked up from his shirt, Keith noticed that the flying sauce had not only taken his shirt hostage- his face was dotted with little red spots of sauce as well. Keith tried to swallow his laughter, but failed as it bubbled up into his throat. Pidge and Hunk turned around, took one look at their two sauce-splattered classmates, and lost it.

"Shut it," Lance whined, though he soon dissolved into laughter as well. He turned his focus to Keith and almost doubled over. Keith ran a hesitant index finger along his cheek amid giggles and grinned when it came away smeared with sauce as well.

He stuck his finger in his mouth and savored the taste of the sauce. "Not bad," he said, and burst out laughing again. It really wasn't bad at all- I fact, it was actually pretty good. When Hunk regained his composure, he tasted the sauce too (though not off of Keith's face).

"Needs a little pepper," he said simply, grinning at the other three.

~~~

In all honesty, Lance didn't really dislike Keith all that much. Granted, he definitely wasn't ranked insanely high on Lance's list of favorite people, but he was no longer number one on the "Biggest Asshole" list either.

After he and Keith got cleaned up as best they could and finished the sauce under Hunk's watchful eye, Pidge poured the pasta into the boiling water and the group patiently waited for the farfalle to cook.

"I have to say- when you said you were a bad cook, I didn't think you meant you flung your food through the air. I was more expecting you to maybe undercook the pasta," Hunk teased Keith, who wore a wide grin.

"Hey, you have it all wrong- that was all Lance. I just got in the way of the projectile sauce," he protested. Lance feigned indignation.

"Wow, throwing me under the bus already? That's low."

"Whatever you say. You totally nailed me in the eyebrow with the sauce there, Sharpshooter." Keith pointed to his left eyebrow, which still had small flecks of red.

"Sharpshooter?"

"Ooh! I think the pasta's ready," Pidge pointed out, and leapt up from her seat at the table. She grabbed the handles of the pot containing the pasta and attempted to heave it off of the stovetop to no avail. She looked expectantly at the three boys. "A little help here?"

"I got it," Lance and Keith chimed at the same time. Keith mimicked a small bow.

"After you, Sharpshooter." Keith smirked.

"Will you quit calling me that?" Lance grumbled. He hoisted the pot off of the stove and set it down in the sink, slowly draining out the water through a strainer.

"In your dreams," Keith called over in a triumphant voice. Lance kind of regretted teasing him about his "not"-mullet. Kind of.

Steam billowed up from the strainer as more pasta slipped out of the pot. The heat stung his eyes just a little and he squinted so as to see better. He poured the pasta into a large serving bowl and proudly set it next to the sauce on the off-white table. 

"Hey, Hunk, where do you guys keep your bowls?" Keith asked from his seat at the table.

"Far left cabinet above the sink," Hunk replied, eyeing the pasta sauce eagerly.

When everyone was served, they all wasted no time in stabbing the pasta with their forks and happily shoveling the dinner into their mouths.

"Ith really gud," Pidge commented around her food.

"Mm hmm," Lance hummed contentedly.

"This has to be the first real food I've eaten in like, a straight week," Keith said happily. "God, it's so nice to have something other than Hot Pockets or instant ramen."

Hunk turned to him. "Your eating habits are stunning," he deadpanned. Keith nodded solemnly and Pidge snorted.

"You should come over more," she said. "You don't actually completely suck at cooking like Lancey Lance over here-" Pidge jabbed her thumb over her shoulder at Lance, who made a sound of protest around a mouthful of pasta, "and you're pretty cool to hang around."

"Thanks," Keith said gratefully. "I've had a way better time than if I'd just ordered takeout or something."

"Dude, what do you even do in your free time?" Lance asked sarcastically. "Do you like write poetry or something?"

"Are you serious? You had me pegged as a poetry guy?"

"I'm afraid so, Mullet."

"Well, Sharpshooter, I can honestly tell you that I don't write haikus or shit to unwind," Keith retorted.

"So what kind of stuff are you into, then?" Hunk inquired, chasing after a stray piece of pasta with his fork.

"Well, I like to ride my bike, run, work out, and watch documentaries, I guess," he responded. Lance held back a snicker.

"So you're into cycling?" he joked, studying a piece of pasta that had just the right amount of sauce on it. He set down his fork after taking a very satisfying bite.

"You could say that," Keith replied, though Lance sensed he was missing something. Something about the amused gleam in Keith's eyes hinted that he didn't quite hit the mark.

"Well, Hunk, I think I'd call that a success," Pidge announced, placing her bowl in the sink. Hunk nodded in agreement and shot her a thumbs-up.

"Do you want help washing the dishes?" Keith asked, and Lance felt the faintest twinge of annoyance that he didn't ask sooner.

"Thanks, but I can handle it. It'll only take a couple minutes." Hunk stood up and made his way to the sink. He turned on the faucet and a steady deluge of water streamed from the tap.

"Ok," Keith replied. He stood up and seemed like he was about to make his way to the door. Before he left, however, Keith turned back to the kitchen. "Thanks for having me over, guys. I don't always get out all that much, so this was a lot of fun. See you around?"

For whatever reason, his words struck a chord with Lance. Before he could stop himself, he blurted out: "Hey, tomorrow we're going on a hike a few miles away- if you want to join," he finished awkwardly. His words sounded a little forced, but he meant it.

"Hey great idea, Lance!" Hunk chimed in.

"I'm full of those," Lance helpfully reminded him. He knew to give credit where credit was due, after all.

"If you want to come with, we can pick you up," Hunk continued with a halfhearted eyeroll.

"Actually, that sounds great." Keith noticeably brightened a little. Lance smiled faintly in response, excited at the prospect of beating Keith up a hiking trail. "Thanks again, guys. It's been really fun tonight." Pidge smiled at him as Hunk waved with a wooden spoon.

"Hasta la vista, Mullet," Lance shot at him as he opened the door. Keith turned with a smirk. 

"Try to keep up tomorrow, Sharpshooter," Keith countered as he slipped out and closed the door behind him.

~~~

The cool fall air wrapped around Keith's lean frame and curled into his lungs and he deeply inhaled the nighttime air. His stomach was pleasantly full of well-made pasta and be brought his fingertip to his eyebrow, wiping away the last of the sauce.

When he had said earlier that he appreciated the gesture of being invited over, he had meant it. Keith really didn't hang out with people his age all that often- he'd always had a harder time connecting with his peers. It had never bothered him, really; he didn't feel as if he was missing out on anything.

Suck up to a bunch of sleazy dudebros just so that he could party to shitty music, get wasted, and then get completely annihilated by a hangover the next morning? It was a tempting offer (spoiler alert: it wasn't), but no. Sure, he'd gone to a few high school parties here and there over the years, but he never really understood the hype. During one in his sophomore year, some teetering girl tried to come onto him. She'd giggled and sloppily traced his jawline with an index finger, other hand clutching a plastic cup with some foul-smelling drink inside. After he'd jerked away from her touch, she mumbled something about being a dick and proceeded to throw up onto his shoes. Not a very fond memory of his tenth grade year.

He'd always stuck to either a small group of friends or just roughed it on his own- though it was never really "alone", since Shiro had been around for just about forever. Keith had met Shiro when he was about four and Shiro was nine edging on ten. He had just moved in across the street from the neighboring city and the older boy had been sent by his parents to deliver cookies to the new neighbors. Keith had shyly accepted the welcoming gift and invited the cookies' deliverer into his house to play. They spent the rest of the day exploring the neighborhood together while Shiro showed Keith the ins and outs of the area, and the two boys became fast friends. After that day, Shiro adopted the role of the older brother in Keith's life and was gladly welcomed into the position.

Keith had entered his freshman year in college expecting to keep the same routine of avoiding and being avoided by his peers. He was perfectly content with spending lots of his free time fixing up and testing out his bike, earning himself the same "bad boy" reputation that he had gained in middle school and high school among his peers. If someone had asked him if he thought he would make new friends in the first month, he would have laughed loudly in their face and told them to hop on the next train home.

Now here he was, in the second week, walking back to his dorm at eleven o'clock after a group cooking class. He might even go as far as to call the people he just hung out with new friends- and hoped in the back of his mind they would feel the same.

Hunk was a genuinely nice guy who was more than happy to include others, and Pidge was just as sardonically funny as Keith was, not to mention that the both of them seemed extremely smart. Lance was... interesting, to say the least. Loud, attention seeking- though he did have his moments. He would most likely object to the idea of the two of them being called "friends", however, and Keith decided a more appropriate description would be "competitors".

Either way, Keith pondered, this was the first time in as long as he could remember that he was legitimately looking forward to seeing and hanging out with his (hopefully) friends in the near future. Thank the lord for pasta sauce.

~~~

"That went... surprisingly well," Pidge said, drying the last piece of silverware with a ratty-looking dish towel. Lance looked over at her, and asked her ever so politely what the hell that observation was supposed to mean.

"I mean," she began exasperatedly, "that considering how you were bickering with him a few days ago over how stupid his jacket looked and his nerve to wear fingerless gloves, you actually managed to be pretty decent to each other for the majority of the night."

"In my defense, his gloves are stupid," Lance argued. "I just figured that for the sake of a nice, hot dinner I might be able to sacrifice my dignity a little by being 'decent' to Keith." He emphasized the word "decent" by making exaggerated air quotes with his fingers.

"Mm hmm, sure," Pidge said in possibly the least convincing voice Lance had ever heard.

"What do you mean 'mm hmm'? I was able to tolerate his B.O. and horrible stirring skills for a short period of time in exchange for food."

"All I'm saying is that if I didn't know better- which I do," she added as Lance shot her a sharp glare, "it almost looked like the two of you were actually getting along."

"Let's get something straight. Keith and I are rivals; neck and neck, head to head. All that," Lance assured her with a cocky smirk centered on his face. No way in hell was he softening up to Keith- he just was able to prevent their rivalry from interrupting the two of them in the workspace. They were still competitors, even if Lance was mature enough to keep from indulging himself by firing insults at the opposition.

"Sure, sure," Pidge responded noncommitally and Lance stuck out his tongue out at her back. That would show her.

~The next day~

"Remind me again why I always agree to go on these little excursions with you at the asscrack of dawn?" Hunk grumbled, wiping groggily at his bleary eyes. It was just a little after 7 o'clock in the morning (the two of them often didn't get out of bed before 9 on the weekends) and they had roughly an hour before they had to pick up Pidge and (ugh) Keith.

"Because," Lance began exasperatedly, "you love me more than life itself and we haven't gone on a hike for like, forever?"

"You got it half right. At the moment, I'm tired as hell and probably not willing to take any bullets for you since you made me get up so goddamn early," Hunk groaned, shoveling coffee grinds into their dinky little percolator.

"Come on, buddy! Hikes aren't that bad, remember the last one we went on?" Lance cheerfully prodded.

"You mean the one where you tripped and knocked Pidge into a cactus? Yeah, I sure remember that," Hunk said bleakly. He fixed Lance with a dry stare. "I also remember having to pull tiny little needles out of her back and shoulders for an hour in hundred-degree heat."

"Okay, so maybe that wasn't the best example- but you get the point," Lance argued, pulling on a blue tank top. He then noticed it was on backwards and hurriedly reversed it.

"I guess you're right. Maybe it'll be better today since we're going in the morning. I checked the weather forecast and it said it should be pretty nice out today, at least," Hunk admitted, pouring two cups of black coffee into chipped mugs. "Chestnut creamer, right?"

"You know me so well," Lance said, and batted his eyelashes comically. "We'll be back by mid-afternoon anyways and I don't think the others would object to grabbing some food afterwards."

"I guess that can be my consolation prize." Hunk was busy packing bottles of water into a backpack along with a few apples and bananas.

Lance wandered into their room and began rooting through his drawers, trying to find the right pair of shorts. He had a pair of boardshorts that went perfectly with his shirt and shoes. The day that he went out of the house not looking put together was the day hell itself froze over. After scrabbling through his drawers for a minute or two longer, he found just the shorts he was looking for and tugged them on over his navy boxers.

He then made his way to the bathroom and stood over the sink for a moment, checking his reflection for any sign of a blemish (as per his daily routine). When he was satisfied that his skin was still smooth enough to pass his standards, he began his daily skincare process that he repeated each morning and night. Cleanliness was key to a fresh appearance, after all. You never knew what cuties you may run across when you're out and about.

Lance checked back into the kitchen again, where Hunk was diligently cooking up a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon, and fresh fruit. "Smells delicious as ever," he said, inhaling the savory smells of the frying food.

"You know it," Hunk responded, a casual smile on his face that always seemed to be present when he was in the kitchen. Lance had grown to understand over the years of their companionship that Hunk's form of escape manifested in the form of cooking. While other people their age were out drinking or screwing in some musty alleyway, Hunk could be found honing his culinary skills over the stove. The guy had honest to God never cooked so much as a bad appetizer in his life, as far as Lance was concerned, whether he was having a crappy day or not.

"Thanks, dude." Lance smiled appreciatively at his friend, who set a plate of food down on the table at Lance's usual spot. "I gotta eat a good meal so I'm at full 'Kicking Keith's Ass' capacity for the hike."

"So I take it you're still hung up on being 'rivals' or whatever the two of you are calling it?" Hunk raised a questioning eyebrow.

"I'm not 'hung up on it', I just take my dignity very seriously and that means no losing to anyone- especially not my new rival," Lance said, jabbing his fork at Hunk to punctuate his statement. Hunk laughed in a way that struck Lance as rather unconvinced, but he decided to ignore it.

~~~

"Ugh, shit." Keith's alarm was blaring next to his bed on his nightstand and he looked at it tiredly, eyes adjusting to the bright light streaming through his messy bedroom's window. When his eyes focused on the red digits on the face of the clock, he sat up immediately and bolted out of bed, giving himself a bit of a head rush.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuck," he muttered to himself as he haphazardly wrenched a gray tank top over his head. How had he managed to sleep through three alarms? He had roughly twenty minutes before the others were coming by to pick him up and he was barely woken up by his emergency alarm. Keith was typically an incredibly light sleeper, so of course it was his luck that the one day that he actually had a social outing he slept in for another hour.

He raced through his dorm to the front door, hopping on leg while trying to pull on a pair of black shorts that he found laying next to his bed on the wooden floor. While attempting to tug on his trademark red and white boots, he slid into the ugly linoleum-tiled kitchen and almost ran into the tiny island in the center (why was that even there? All it did was make the cramped kitchen look tacky on top of everything else).

Keith slammed two frozen waffles into the outdated toaster sitting on the counter and eloquently cursed himself as he attempted to calm down his mess of inky hair in the bathroom mirror. When he saw that it obviously wasn't working for him, he let out a frustrated groan and began brushing his teeth in possibly the most aggressive fashion known to man.

He grabbed the two waffles from the toaster, now lukewarm, and held one in between his teeth. "Good going, idiot," he chastised himself around the waffle and took a quick bite out of it.

A few minutes later, Keith had a canteen of water and trail mix packed into a faded red hiking backpack along with a couple other supplies. He decided that was about as organized as he would get that morning and sat down on his bed to wait for his- friends? Classmates? Whatever you wanted to call them, really (though he wouldn't admit it to anyone, Keith secretly hoped in the back of his mind that soon he'd be able to call them friends without having to second guess himself).

Keith absentmindedly twisted a stray thread off of his bedspread around his finger as he waited for the others. He watched it placidly as he threaded it in on itself, tying a miniscule knot into the thread.

Mind wandering, he thought back to a few weeks ago, just before the start of the semester. Shiro, in true older brother fashion, had been assuring him via text that he would make friends in college soon enough. Keith appreciated his gesture, but brushed him off with a simple It's cool, I don't really care. One downside to the whole meeting new people and making friends (with any luck) was that sooner or later, Shiro would find out and give him the smug "See? I told you so."

A knock suddenly resounded through his small dorm, jarring Keith out of his oddly reflective thoughts.

"Uh, Keith?" Pidge's voice was muffled by the door in between her and Keith, who was hurriedly grabbing his pack and moving to get the door. "Shit, I really hope Hunk gave me the right dorm number."

"Yeah, it's the right one," Keith hummed, opening the door and giving her a small smile.

"Thank God. That would have been one hell of an awkward conversation if I had to explain to some random guy why I was pounding on their door at 8 am asking for a Keith," she added wryly, eliciting a barking laugh from Keith.

"Hold up." Pidge stopped him before they reached the door leading outside from the dorms. "I have to warn you that what you may see next may make you want to bleach your eyes, burst into hysterical tears, or bust an internal organ laughing. I would suggest the last one, though, fair warning."

"Huh?" Keith replied quizzically, confused by her odd statement, before she opened the door.

"Meet the Bananamobile,"Pidge announced proudly.

The Bananamobile lived up to its name.

It was a large yellow SUV, dotted sporadically with patches of earthy brown where the paint had been chipped away. The color of the vehicle itself was comical in itself, a bright daisy yellow that one might witness in a little kid's crayon box. The front of the car was spattered with dried mud, as were patches of the sides. Its tired exterior was accentuated by worn down black tires that looked closer to big black Cheerios than anything else.

"Wow."

"I know, right? Doesn't make it very easy to pick up chicks at a bar, if you catch my drift." Pidge playfully elbowed him in the ribs before darting into the passenger's seat.

Keith opened the second door on his side and it let out a loud squeak. He slid into the back seat as Hunk gave him a cheerful smile. "Thoughts on this baby?"

"Well," Keith said slowly. "It's... unique. And has definitely earned its name."

"You think?" Hunk laughed from his seat behind the wheel.

"Definitely." Keith paused to observe the interior of the car, which was... well, just as you'd expect from the outside. The seats were well-worn and had definitely seen cleaner days. He was pretty sure he was sitting on a rip in one of the cushions, but luckily it wasn't all that uncomfortable. The dashboard was home to more than a few empty wrappers and chip bags, while the rearview mirror hosted a variety of cheap air fresheners. The windows were smudged with fingerprints and Keith got the impression that the car probably hadn't been either washed or cleaned in a while.

"Ready to get your ass handed to you?" Lance challenged from the seat beside him. He was wearing a blue muscle tee and board shorts, complete with a pair of black sneakers.

"Actually, no- I don't think that'll an issue," Keith taunted in response.

"Brave words. You sure you won't like, evaporate out there? You're kind of dressed like a vampire," responded Lance. He looked pointedly at Keith's rather monochrome outfit and then raised his eyebrows.

"Funny coming from you. You're dressed like you're on your way to a frat party," Keith countered, cracking a dry smile.

"Ouch. I'll have you know that I do not plan to attend any frat parties. Bad for the skin, bad for the soul."

"Is that a new proverb?"

"Definitely. I would advise against going to any frat parties. They sound like crappy high school parties- just with more beer and less hot people."

Keith hesitated the slightest bit. Probably a slip of the tongue, but he could have sworn he heard Lance say the word "people". As in, not just "chicks" or "babes", but "people". He didn't linger on this long, however, and discarded the thought quickly.

"What an enthralling conversation the two of you are having," Pidge deadpanned from up front. She had her feet propped up on the dashboard in what was probably supposed to appear comfortable and relaxed. Unfortunately, the length of her legs made her have to adjust her position and the result looked very awkward and strained. Nonetheless, she folded her arms behind her head nonchalantly. 

"At least the drive shouldn't be too long," Hunk interjected enthusiastically. "Pidge, can you check on your phone?"

"Sure," she said casually. Keith had to swallow down a laugh as he watched her awkwardly readjust her position to fish her phone out of her back pocket. "It says it should be... ugh."

"How long?" Hunk sighed.

"Not good."

"Just rip off the Band-aid. How long?"

"Two hours."

"What?" Lance yelped. "It's normally like forty five minutes!"

"Maybe we should just stay home and order a pizza," Hunk suggested.

"No, we gotta go hiking. If I stay inside another minute I might go insane." Lance seemed pretty set on his little excursion. Keith wondered if any of his determination was stemming from his promise to outshine the competition (namely, Keith).

"What do you two think?" Hunk looked at Pidge, then at Keith.

"I'm fine with whatever, really," the former responded, having assumed her prior position, looking as forcedly calm as before.

Hunk turned an expectant gaze onto Keith. "I'm cool with whatever you guys want to do," he answered, afraid to be pushy or make them feel obligated to do anything because of him.

"Is this you backing out of our friendly little competition?" Lance baited. "I mean, if you want to forfeit, that's totally-"

"On second thought, hiking sounds like a good option." Keith shot a look at Lance, who was looking at him triumphantly and a hint of a grin.

"Alrighty, big man! Rev her up!" Lance called, and Hunk muttered something under his breath about how vile hiking was. 

~~~

An hour into the drive, Lance was still determined to not let Keith out-hike him on the trail. He was pretty confident in his hiking abilities and would probably rather pitch himself off the sides of one of the trails than admit Keith was better than him at it (which he wouldn't be). He wasn't exactly sure even what the terms of their little competition were: whether it was decided by who looked the least winded, who was ahead, or who couldn't keep up. 

"So, Mullet." Keith turned to him and away from the window he was gazing out of with a scowl playing across his lips. "What are the terms of your agonizing defeat?"

"Huh?"

"Like, how are we judging your loss? How will the winner be determined?"

"Oh." Keith paused and thought for a moment. "How about we judge the winner by whoever drops behind the other first? That way, when I win, we can chalk you up to maybe second place?"

"Oh boy," Pidge deadpanned. "Hunk, better say bye now because as soon as we park they'll just be booking it out the door. Probably won't see them until around three."

"Ok, ok," Lance conceded. "No running the trail. Though I don't exactly see any of us doing that- the trail I picked out is pretty all over the place."

"Oh great," Hunk muttered from the driver's seat. "First hike in weeks and Lance chooses the most grueling one he can find."

"No pain no gain, my man," Lance said, and reached forward to pat his friend's shoulder reassuringly. When they stopped at a red light, Hunk shot him a dirty look in response.

Twenty minutes later, Lance was getting pretty tired of going through the alphabet via license plates of cars they passed. If he mistook one more zero for the letter "O" he would probably throw his backpack out of the car window.

"Road games, anybody?" he suggested hopefully. Pidge looked at him in the rearview mirror for a second before shrugging in agreement. 

"Sure," Keith nodded.

"I'm in," Hunk agreed. "What should we play?"

"Umm..." Lance ran through all of the road games he liked to play, though the majority of them were for one person. He turned to Keith, who shrugged noncommittally.

His eyes met the scheming ones of Pidge, whose face was morphed into a sly smile. Lance never liked when she got that look on her face. Nine times out of ten, it meant she had a terrible idea forming in her head. "How about hotseat?" she asked innocently. Lance groaned. Yep, there was that bad idea. 

Keith turned to Lance, a quizzical expression on his face. "Hotseat?"

"It's a game where each round, everyone in the car takes a turn being asked questions. They're on the 'hotseat'. Everyone else gets their turn to ask said person any question they want, then it moves on to the next person. You can play for however long you like," Lance explained unenthusiastically. "When we play, however, it turns into 'What Can We Get Lance To Reveal About Himself That Can Be Used As Blackmail Material?'" 

"Which is exactly why it's so fun," Pidge chimed in. "And it's not just you, Lance. Remember Hunk's noodle story?"

"That was one time! Stop bringing it up!" Hunk complained from behind the wheel, taking his eyes off of the road for a second to give her a death glare. Pidge cackled, not to be fazed by her friend's stare.

"Good point, I guess," Lance begrudgingly agreed. "This might be a golden opportunity to get some tea on ol' Mullet here, anyways."

Keith gave him a dirty look. "I'm sure. In the meantime, I intend to hear about every cringey middle school phase that you went through."

"Oh boy, is that one gonna take a wh-"

"Shut up, Pidge." Lance's crafty smirk disappeared off of his face as he ran through every horrible band he'd liked and every god-awful outfit he'd worn. Those were not memories he fondly looked back on, to say the least.

"Alright, who wants to start?" Hunk interrupted. Unsurprisingly, nobody jumped at the opportunity. 

"I say we go by newest in the group." Pidge turned to grin at Keith evilly. He let out a long sigh. 

"What did I ever do to you, dude?" he complained, and Lance's sly expression returned to his face once more. Time to find out all the juicy little details about Keith that could be used in the future.

"Alright Keith," Hunk said, cutting off what would probably have been another complaint from the raven-haired boy. "Let's start simple: biggest pet peeve?"

"That's such a boring question, dude," Lance moaned. What kind of middle school question was that? He was silenced by a glare through the mirror.

Keith pondered the question for a moment, violet eyes fixed on the dirty roof of the car. "I'd have to say people who walk slowly," he decided. The others murmured their agreements. Slow walkers were the bane of pretty much everyone's existences. 

"My turn," Pidge crowed. "Ever used a fake ID?"

"Yeah," Keith replied. "Senior year of highschool, I got one midway through the first semester and used it to go to clubs and stuff." Lance raised his eyebrows. So the "bad boy" lived up to the name, huh?

"That so? Did you go to get laid?" Pidge was now interested; her body was turned around to face the backseat.

"That's more than one question," Keith said simply. She gave him a look that seemed a lot like her signature "I'll find out" stare. She'd used that same look on Lance more times than he'd like to admit.

"Alright then, Mullet." Lance stretched leisurely and shot him a cheeky grin. "Ever gotten laid?"

In that moment, Lance was gifted with possibly the most comical expression he'd ever seen on his rival's face. It was a mix of half-hidden uncomfortableness and annoyance that already gave Lance the answer he was looking for. 

"No," Keith admitted, and attempted to hide the annoyance that was plainly written across his face.

Lance let out a whoop and grinned widely. "So the bad boy extraordinaire has never gotten the Lady V?"

"Funny enough coming from you, Lance. If memory serves, you haven't exactly been a smashing success in your sexual endeavors either," Pidge chided. "Which is interesting, given that you flirt with everything that walks on two legs. Maybe it says something about your pickup lines." Next to Lance, Keith stiffened just the tiniest bit- it was almost imperceptible. Lance decided to ignore it. 

"This isn't about me, Pidge. This is about Mullet and his feminine conquests," Lance countered.

"For the record," Keith said sharply, "I don't think that the 'Lady V' is exactly up my alley." he clapped his hand over his mouth as soon as he uttered the words and his face turned four shades of maroon. He shut his eyes and it appeared he was conflicted in whether or not to roll out the side door into oncoming traffic.

Pidge's eyes widened and she stopped mid-comment. Her hazel eyes flicked over to Keith's, who were now trained at his feet as if they were the best thing since sliced bread. Hunk's laugh caught in his throat and he tried use the the mirror to catch a glimpse of the boy who looked like he wanted to evaporate next to Lance. After a moment, Lance got the implication. Could the ultra-tough, too-cool, untouchable Keith be...?

"Thank God," Pidge said finally. "We already have Hunk as our token straight." 

Next to him, Lance felt Keith shift the tiniest bit in his seat.

"So you're..." Keith looked questioningly at Pidge. His face had visibly relaxed and he no longer looked like a fire truck that was in danger of passing out from heat stroke. 

"Asexual? Aromantic? Dunno really, whatever you want to call it. I've never been invested in the whole dating scene and the thought of touching a dick makes me want to ingest some arsenic." she laughed dryly and Keith eased up a little more, his rigid posture becoming more of a natural slouch. He managed a hesitant smile at her in response.

"So you guys are cool with my being gay?" He asked cautiously. Why was he so wigged out about the fact that he wasn't into girls? Lance, Pidge, and Hunk were possibly some of the most non-threatening people on the planet (with the exception of Pidge when she was sleep deprived and someone tried to touch her equipment. Then she was a downright terrifying force of nature). 

"I'm almost offended that you took us for such close-minded dicks, man." Hunk shook his head disapprovingly. "You don't need to be scared to tell us stuff like that. Now, if you came to my dorm at three in the morning needing to hide a corpse, I may have a few issues with that- but I'm pretty sure that's not the case."

"Yeah, man," Lance said, clapping a hand on Keith's shoulder. He looked at the guy sitting next to him, who was gazing at him with a guarded expression. "We're your friends. The only thing you have to fear from me is your inevitable defeat on the hiking trail."

Keith's mouth twisted into a small smirk. "You wish, dude."

~~~

"Oh my god, Lance, what the hell is this?" Pidge grabbed Lance's phone, which was hooked up to the car and was playing what sounded like some early 2000's music. She stared at the screen and then looked blankly at the phone's owner. "You have a playlist labeled 'Good Shit' that consists of shitty music ranging from 2004-2012? Christ almighty." 

"It is a great playlist, thankyouverymuch," Lance grumbled, and snatched the phone out of her grasp.

"I'm impressed, Sharpshooter," Keith taunted. "I didn't think people listened to this kind of stuff anymore. For both the first and last time, you may have just proved me wrong." He tugged the phone out of Lance's hands and scrolled through the playlist. 

"My guess is that you listen to some really emo music from like a bajillion years ago." Lance crossed his arms and frowned. "Like, My Chemical Romance or something."

"Nope. But it seems like you have an affinity for... Shakira?" Keith snickered and pressed play on the song his finger was closest to. Hips Don't Lie suddenly blasted through the car's speakers, and Lance grinned.

"That's a personal favorite. I have a pretty bomb ass dance routine to accompany it."

"Is that true? I have to get it on video at some point. Future you will regret it." Keith envisioned Lance in atrocious oval glasses and hammer pants, dancing comically to a jumpy beat. He snorted, earning himself a look from the tan boy next to him.

"Definitely will. But for now, I'll stick with it. You're more than welcome to play the captive audience at some point."

"I would highly recommend you don't, Keith," Hunk warned, eyes trained on the road. "I made that mistake, and trust me- it's not something you want to experience a second time."

"I'm hurt," Lance whined. "It's not that bad!"

"Dude, you literally assume the persona of a stripper when you dance," Hunk said, obviously remembering his experience as an audience member. "It looked like something out of a pole dancer's routine."

"I resent that." Lance pouted, jutting out his lower lip in mock annoyance. He whined a response to Hunk about not appreciating talent or something along those lines. 

Keith, however, wasn't paying much attention to what was being said. He was distracted by Hunk's description of Lance's dancing abilities, which now changed very drastically in his mind's eye. Suddenly, the hilariously dancing boy in hammer pants was replaced by a different Lance, one wearing a glittering, form-fitting silver tank top and tight leather pants. His hips swayed to an erratic, thrumming beat as he smirked coyly and-

Keith decided to abandon that thought. 

Half an hour later, the Bananamobile pulled into a dusty parking area off to the side of the road. Its four inhabitants opened its doors and clambered out of their seats. Keith stretched his limbs contentedly, glad to be out of the cramped confines of a car. He was glad to be doing something other than working out in an air conditioned gym, which was the way that he spent a good portion of his time. Hiking had always been a favorable pastime and now that he had someone to compete against, it was sure to be at least somewhat interesting.

"So, Keith." Lance was in the midst of stretching- and he seemed pretty into it. "Ready to admit defeat? We can call it a near miss if you give in right now." He reached down to touch his toes and then straightened up again. Looked like the lanky brunet was actually pretty flexible. 

"In your dreams, Sharpshooter." Keith grabbed his backpack from the trunk of the SUV and took a swig from his red canteed, a tiny stream of water twisting down his chin. He hastily wiped it away and shoved his water back into his bag. 

Pidge, Hunk, and Lance grabbed their packs, which were respectively lime green, sunshine yellow, and a brilliant shade of cerulean. Hunk locked the Bananamobile as they set off to where the trail would begin, their shoes kicking up dust as they walked. Lance and Pidge were excitedly talking about something in one of their classes pertaining to aerodynamics. Hunk hung back and walked next to Keith in a comfortable silence for a moment, before giving him a clumsy smile.

"I hope we haven't totally scared you off yet." Hunk's large brown eyes stared into Keith's violet ones, twinkling with faint amusement. "I promise we're not always this bad-"

"Dude, it's fine," Keith said, cutting him off mid-sentence. "You guys are fun." He shot his new friend a small smile before all of the air was crushed out of his lungs. 

"Hunk, stop hugging Keith before you crack one of his ribs!" Pidge called from a few paces ahead of them.

"Sorry, sorry." Hunk hurriedly released Keith from his vice-like embrace, embarrassed. His mocha-colored skin flushed and he laughed nervously. "Sorry about that, I just like to give out physical affection. 

"It's all good." Keith sucked in a huge breath and laughed. "I don't get bone-crushing hugs very often, so I can proudly say that you've crossed that off of the list." Hunk chuckled and gave him a playful punch to the shoulder. 

The four of them stopped when they reached a collection of sun bleached signs with faded trail names and distances on them, paint having been chipped away by the weather long ago. 

"There we go." Lance pointed to a sign that read Walnut Ridge Trail, with a distance of four miles round-trip. "See? Shouldn't be too bad!" He smiled brightly at Hunk, whose mouth was fixed in a disapproving frown. 

"Let's get this over with, already," Hunk said. "If I burn, I'm blaming you. You just had to choose the one day where it's actually sunny and sweltering hot, didn't you?"

"Oh, right! You just reminded me!" Lance fished around in his pack for a minute before retrieving a white tube with the words SPF 20 emblazoned on the front in orange block letters. 

"Leave it to you to bring sunscreen on our hike," Pidge snorted. "Mr. Skincare lives up to his name once again." 

"Don't act so put off; think of it as I'm preventing you from wrinkles later down the line." The lanky brunet walked over to Keith, and motioned for him to hold out his hand. He then proceeded to squirt a dollop of sunscreen into the shorter boy's open hand. When he was satisfied that there was the right amount in Keith's hand, Lance moved on to Pidge, who vehemently protested the use of sunscreen.

"Pidge, you're Italian, right?" Pidge nodded, wearily eyeing the white substance in Lance's hand. "That means that if you don't use sunscreen, by the time we hit the one hour mark you'll most likely be the color of a freshly painted fire hydrant, kapeesh?"

"Ugh, fine." Lance triumphantly dropped sunscreen into her hand and she began to spread it onto her shoulders, neck, and arms, grumbling the whole time. 

"Don't forget the face and ears!" Lance chimed from where he was standing in front of Hunk. Pidge acknowledged his encouragement with a low growl. After he had applied a generous amount of sunscreen to his own skin and massaged it in so it wouldn't show, he stepped back to inspect the other three. 

Keith was just finishing up blending the white cream into his own skin when Lance interjected. "You missed a spot on your ear- no, other ear!" He huffed as the taller boy tried to direct him to the exact spot where there was a blotch of unblended sunscreen before sighing in exasperation and dropping his hand.

"Can't I just leave it?" He protested, but Lance shook his head.

"It's bugging me- ugh, here. Let me get it." 

He stepped in front of Keith so that they were a few inches apart. Keith pointedly ignored the smell of coconut and mango that tickled his nose and hyperfocused on a small green shrub about ten feet away, trying to draw his attention away from the form that was currently massaging his ear. He also pushed down a twinge of annoyance that Lance was visibly taller than him by a couple inches- not much, but enough that you could notice without having to look very hard. 

"Get a room!" Pidge's voice rang from a few feet away, where she and Hunk were presumably snickering at Keith's awkward stance. 

"Fuck off, shortstop!" Lance shouted good-naturedly, then stepped back, satisfied with the state of Keith's ear. "Much better," he said with an amused smile. 

"Can we start now? I'm baking already and we haven't even started yet," Hunk jumped in. It was true; his yellow t-shirt was already dotted with tiny beads of sweat. His foot tapped on the ground, puffing up tiny clouds of dust.

"Alright, alright! Cool your jets," Lance huffed, starting off down the trail. Keith kept pace with him, knowing Lance would never let him live it down if he let himself forget about the challenge and drop behind before the hike even started. 

Before long, the two of them had left Pidge and Hunk behind. The latter had insisted the competitors move ahead so that they could relax without having to listen to the "inevitable bickering". Lance and Keith had complied and jogged for a minute or two so they could be a comfortable distance in front. As expected, it wasn't long before the rivalry kicked in.

"I'm impressed you've kept up with me this long, Mullet."

"Lance, it's been like ten minutes." Keith rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, so that's about twice as long as I initially expected from you." 

"Seriously? You thought I was so bad at hiking that I couldn't keep up with you for more than five minutes?" Lance nodded in fake solemnity. "Fuck off."

The taller boy looked at him for a moment before gesturing broadly to the mass of oak trees and worn dirt paths that lay before them. "I have to warn you, though; I was serious when I said this wasn't a particularly easy trail. I've probably done it maybe six times and even though it isn't especially long, it's pretty draining."

"That's fine with me. I like hiking, so this shouldn't be too hard. Of course, if you want to slow down a little and take your time..." Keith prodded, knowing he'd get a reaction from this comment. 

"Wh-slow down? I'm barely getting started!" Lance picked up the pace and so did Keith, who sniggered to himself at his ability to rile the other up. 

In all honesty, it was kind of a difficult hike. The trail had a nasty habit of curving and winding up and down steep hillsides. It was littered with rocks jutting out here and there at random intervals. Keith scratched himself on a particularly sharp one that grazed his ankle, but said nothing about it. The last thing he needed in this sweltering heat was for Lance to laugh at him for cutting himself on a goddamn rock. 

Though the trail was hot, winding, and riddled with rocks, it was surrounded by beautiful scenery- which explained why Lance liked this spot so much. The sky was a brilliant blue with a slight dusting of pale, fluffy clouds. Grand oak trees stretched upwards, limbs extended as if they were straining to touch the sky. Small wildlife darted in and out of the brush, playing a seemingly ceaseless game of tag. Once in a while, a light breeze cut through the dry air, flowing through Keith's dark hair and furling into his lungs. The oak trees' leaves created a sheer canopy over the trail for a stretch of the hike, creating a tortoiseshell pattern of shadows on the ground. 

The two walked in silence for a while, relishing the feeling of the occasional breeze or stopping to quietly observe a rabbit dashing across the ground a few feet in front of them. After about half an hour of walking, Keith noticed that they were no longer half-running along the trail; they were still keeping pace, but had evidently gradually slowed down to take in the scenery better. It was most likely a subconscious decision on both of their parts: Lance seemed to be lost in his surroundings as well. The breeze ruffled his hair every so often, creating caramel swirls in the hot air. 

Keith thought back to the car ride, when he had accidentally outed himself in front of his new friends. It was a slip up, really- he had bitten back at Lance's comment about his lack of... well, interaction and let it slip that girls just weren't really his niche. Immediately after the words rolled off his tongue, he regretted it. The last "friends" he had come out to had been less than accommodating to his "lifestyle choices", so to speak. The sense of relief he had felt when the other three told him they were cool with it had threatened to overwhelm him- he had been extremely closed about his sexual preferences since his last group of friends and hadn't actually planned to open up to these new ones for a while.

It wasn't that he was ashamed about being gay. That wasn't his problem; he had come to terms with his romantic and sexual preferences a couple years ago and had since not troubled himself about it. His issue was with his peers, who could be less open-minded than his newest acquaintances. Keith had initially planned to get a better bearing on his new friends before telling them, since he didn't want to get too close to them before being shut down. But now that he'd (accidentally) told them, it felt as though a weight had been lifted off of his sunscreen-smothered shoulders. 

And then there was the other thing. The thing having to do with the guy walking right next to him. 

When he'd slipped up, Pidge had told him she was ace, which was totally cool with him. She had then called Hunk the "token straight guy". That's what was prodding at Keith so much- if Hunk had acknowledged that he was indeed the sole straight guy in their group, that meant Lance had to be... something other than that. This had taken Keith by surprise, actually; he'd had the taller boy pegged as possibly the straightest guy on the face of the planet. 

He glanced over at his hiking competitor. Lance's eyes were gazing away from Keith at the scenery on his left, roaming over the various hills and landforms. The tan skin on his forehead glistened with a sheen of sweat that he occasionally took a second to wipe away with the back of his hand. The muscle tee Lance was wearing was dampened around the collar with moisture, but his eyes shone bright blue with contentment. 

Not wanting to press his luck by looking for too long, Keith averted his eyes back to the trail and scenery. He let his eyes trace the outline of the rolling hills and mountains in the far distance, noting how spectacular the view was. "I have to admit, you chose a pretty neat place," he admitted to Lance, who seemed to be tugged out of his reverent gazing.

"Yeah, I really like it here," he replied, a placid smile dancing across his lips. "It's good for when you want to think or have some time to yourself." Keith nodded quietly, looking up at the canopy of leaves. 

"And if you don't pick up the pace a little, you'll have some nice alone time soon enough," Lance teased, lengthening his strides. Keith rolled his eyes half heartedly, but fought down the tiniest hint of a grin as he adjusted his pace to match the other's. 

~~~

Lance was happy that the others had agreed to come hiking with him. Though he'd tried to play it down, it was difficult for him to conceal his excitement of showing them his favorite hiking spot. What he'd told Keith was true; he came there sometimes to clear his head when everything was just a bit too much. It was a truly gorgeous spot, heat and poking hazards aside.

The pace he had set for the two of them still wasn't as fast as they'd been going when they first started, but it was quicker than the leisurely stroll that they were at a few minutes prior. Lance had been enjoying himself, watching the rabbits run through the brush and listening to the rustle of the trees. When Keith's- comment? Compliment?- had snapped him out of his stupor, he was reminded that though this was a time to chill out, he still had a competition to win.

They still had a while to go in terms of length, so Lance decided to find a way to pass the time. He thought about playing "I Spy", but decided against it since Keith didn't exactly seem like the type and it wasn't much of a game geared towards a single person. Twenty Questions could be a viable option, however. He resolved to test his luck.

"So, Mullet, what do you say we get to know each other a little better?" Lance asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

"What?" Keith tore his attention away from the view and regarded Lance with wide eyes. Why did he look so weirded out?- ah. So maybe his choice of words wasn't top quality. 

"Oh my God, not like that," Lance said, his laugh bubbling up in his throat. Keith exhaled, evidently relieved. "I meant like through questions, not getting it on in the middle of a dirt path."

"Well, I get that now," Keith muttered, a faint redness tainting his cheeks; he was probably flushed from the heat.

"I know I teased you earlier about being a virgin, but I didn't challenge you so I could cure you of it," he said, snickering. Keith gave him a dirty look. "I mean, if you really wanted to be cured, however, I'm sure I could arrange for us to benefit from-"

"Cut it out." Had Keith's flush deepened? Wait a second.

"Is someone a little skittish about the topic of- how do I put it? Getting down and dirty?" Lance's eyebrows leapt playfully as he edged closer to the inky-haired boy. 

"Shut up, Lance."

"Doing the do? Getting it on?"

"Shut. Up."

"Gettin' hot and heavy?" 

"Will you quit it? I'm not the only virgin here," Keith blurted out finally, face a rich shade of crimson.

"Ooh, you got me there," Lance snorted. He made a mental note of a good topic to fluster Keith with. "Anyways, I figure that as rivals, we better get to know each other better."

"Fair enough, I guess." Keith's face had returned to its normal color, for the most part. The residual flush was most likely a result of the blistering heat. A few strands of jet-black hair were plastered to his forehead with sweat. 

"So, my man, you got a job?"

"Yeah," Keith responded, wiping at his forehead and brushing a tuft of hair out of his face. "I work some weeknights at a bar off campus. Every other weekend, I spend two hours a day at a martial arts studio teaching little kids, too."

"That's actually... pretty cool," Lance admitted. He could totally see Keith beating up on some poor punching bag. 

"How about you? Let me guess, you're some aspiring beauty guru who works at the local Bath and Body Works?"

"Close, but no cigar." Lance kicked at a small gray rock that he almost tripped over. "I work in the campus' coffee shop. Plus, those beauty guru people bug me. They're too fake."

"Good to know," Keith commented. "Favorite color?"

"That one's a no brainer for me. Blue, all day every day." Lance looked at Keith's red backpack and boots, then up at his face again. "And yours is red?"

"Look at that, you got it right."

"Do I get a cookie?"

"Nope, didn't bring any. Sorry to disappoint. I have a kind of gross energy bar, however." Keith gave him a cheeky half-grin.

"Hold the phone. Did the Keith Kogane just make a joke? That wasn't at my expense?" Lance wondered aloud.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't get used to it. I fully intend to hear about your cringey middle school phases and when I do, that'll be the end of your sarcastic commentary." Keith picked a stray leaf off of a bush as they walked and absentmindedly crumpled it in his hand. 

"Mother Nature's going to get you for that," Lance chastised him. "No bueno."

"Sorry, Mother Nature." Keith picked another leaf off of a bush.

"You're on her hit list now; you better watch out."

Keith raised an eyebrow. "I'll sleep with one eye open, don't you worry."

"So anyways," Lance continued, "I would be more than happy to tell you about my middle school endeavors myself- on one condition."

"And that is?" Keith asked. 

"You have to tell me yours too." This elicited a groan from Keith, who was clearly not proud about his past choices either.

"Fine, but you go first." Lance hadn't actually expected Keith to agree to his terms. Now, he was forced to tell Keith (his rival, of all people!) all of his horrible decisions he made at the ripe age of twelve. 

"Where do I start? It was quite a time in terms of style, music preferences, all sorts of things." He was trying his best to stall the conversation. His preteen years were definitely not something he looked back on fondly. 

"Go on," Keith prodded. No use trying to skirt the issue.

"Well, to start, my role models had to be- okay, you gotta promise not to laugh too hard," Lance began.

"Scout's honor," Keith replied, obviously eagerly anticipating all the juicy details that were about to be shared.

"My role models had to be One Direction. Most of all Zayn." He was cut off by a burst of laughter from beside him. 

"O-oh my God, you're serious?" So much for scout's honor.

"Yes, I'm serious," Lance fully regretted their compromise. He was two sentences in and had just shared possibly the most mortifying fact about himself in existence. 

"That is fucking golden, dude." Keith wiped a tear away from the corner of his eye and Lance gave him the most intimidating, annoyed look he could muster. All this did was propel Keith into another bout of hysterics.

"Anyways, moving on. I thought that shutter shades were the actual shit. You know, like the ones Kanye wore?" Lance purposefully left out the fact that he had around fifty different old selfies of himself wearing them. He'd never live it down if Keith saw those.

"Oh... wow. That's just... a lot to process." Keith was in the process of unsuccessfully trying to fight off another round of laughter.

"Yeah. It's kind of traumatic to look back on. I have to hand it to Hunk for sticking around me and not totally ditched me like any sane person would've."

Keith's violet eyes flickered with amusement. "Feel free to continue."

"What else? Oh, I know. I thought that Nicki Minaj was God's greatest gift to mankind." It was true. He still had her entire Pinkprint album and Anaconda single on a playlist on iTunes. 

"Wait, like you thought that she was hot, or you idolized her?"

"I couldn't care less about how she looked. All I cared about was creating the most ridiculous dance routine to Anaconda that I could. I think my mom still has the video of me performing it in front of my family. Thank the lord the majority of my family only speaks Spanish; otherwise I probably wouldn't be here talking to you right now." 

"You performed a dance to Anaconda by Nicki Minaj in front of your entire family?" Lance nodded, eyes raised to the sky. Maybe if he stared at the sun long enough, he'd pass out. "Dude, you're gonna go blind doing that."

"Yeah. I told you enough as it is, now it's your turn." They were nearing Lance's least favorite bit of the trail. A tall, winding slope, littered with loose pebbles and dotted with cacti. There was always the occasional gust of wind that came roaring through, and if you let it catch you off guard you'd most likely spend the rest of your time on the trail pulling needles out of your ass. Unfortunately, Lance knew that from experience. 

As they carefully made their way up the hill, Keith reluctantly began to recount his middle school years to Lance, who was more than happy to lend an ear. 

"I can't believe I agreed to this," the shorter boy moaned. 

"I spilled a few things I wish I didn't and I'm pretty sure it took like three years off my life," Lance assured him. "Now it's your turn." 

"Ugh. Well, for starters, I went through an emo phase."

"Wait- seriously? I know I made fun of you about it before but you were actually emo for a point in your life?" Lance shrieked with laughter. 

Keith looked like he was silently wishing for himself to turn into a puddle right then and there. "Yeah. Don't remind me."

"Did you have merch?"

"Yes, Lance. I had merch." 

"Please tell me it was like My Chemical Romance or something. Please, please tell me that."

Keith heaved in a long breath, then sighed resignedly. "It was My Chemical Romance."

Lance couldn't hold it together anymore. He doubled over laughing, mind bombarded with images of a preteen Keith putting on guyliner and a choker. "Did you have a fringe haircut?" 

"Thank God I was prevented from doing that. I thank my guardian angel every day. It was a very real temptation, though."

"That's too good. Unfortunately, I have just divulged some top secret information that I can't have damaging my reputation, and I'm assuming you feel the same way about that absolute fucking gold you just shared with me," Lance confessed. He wiped away a rivulet of sweat that was working its way down his chin. Keith nodded in agreement.

"What do you say you don't disclose anything that I told you to people, and I'll keep your secret under wraps too?" Lance stopped walking for a moment and stuck his tan-colored hand out for the other to shake.

"Sounds good. I can't be known as the formerly emo kid; I have a solid rep to keep up," Keith said surreptitiously. 

"Rep as what? The school eighties movie character?" Lance dodged a gloved hand as Keith attempted to swat at his head. Again, who wore fingerless gloves these days?

"Oh, yeah. That's rich coming from the- shit!" Suddenly, Keith was no longer clambering up the hill next to Lance. The taller boy whipped around and saw his shorter companion lose his footing in slow motion, almost as if the moment were in a movie and the audience chose to play it at half speed. Behind him was a steep slope dropped off to a stretch of trail that they'd had to trek up a few minutes prior. If Keith fell, he would most likely go tumbling down it- and a fall like that would hurt.

Lance's instincts went into overdrive. He darted forward, arm outstretched and fingers straining. As soon as he felt the gray fabric of Keith's shirt, his fingers clenched around the material and he frantically snapped his arm back as fast as humanly possible. For a second that seemed to last an eternity, he almost felt the fabric leave his fingers. His heart dropped into his stomach and he grasped the shirt even firmer, using every ounce of energy he had to yank the other boy away from the edge of the trail. It seemed as though for a moment, the two of them were suspended in time, Lance's wiry body reaching forward and frenziedly holding onto Keith's shirt, who was dangling over the precipice of a very painful potential fall. 

Then, by some unknown luck, Lance felt an extra burst of energy propel him backwards. Relief and adrenaline coursed through his veins as he felt Keith's body give leeway, the boy's arms wildly scrabbling at the air. The two of them came crashing down to the dusty ground of the hiking trail in a flurry of limbs, kicking up a large puff of dust that rudely invaded Lance's lungs.

The two of them didn't move for a moment, heaving in rushed breaths. Keith's eyes remained screwed shut and his heartbeat seemed to race a mile a minute on top of Lance's lean frame. Their chests were up against each other, legs threaded together as they lay on the solid earth. Turns out the ground wasn't the only thing that was solid, Lance observed from his position under Keith. Their bodies pressed together made it very clear that his friend was well built, an observation that Lance decided to not linger on any longer given their rather compromising position.

The awkwardness of the situation only increased as Keith blinked and stared, mortified, right into Lance's eyes. Intense violet crashed against ocean blue for the span of a second before the former hurriedly sat up and clambered off of Lance. A heavy silence followed as Lance tried to search for something to say that wouldn't make their situation any more awkward than it already was. 

"Mother Nature's revenge," he said simply. He and Keith looked at each other for a moment before the other boy emitted a sound that sounded like- a giggle? Lance, in turn, snickered, which prompted Keith to completely lose it. The sight of him sitting on the ground just howling with laughter made Lance crack up as well, and it wasn't long before the two of them were just enveloped in hysterics. It was most likely the residual adrenaline working its way out of their systems, but the two of them sat on the dusty ground for what felt like hours (but probably couldn't have been more than a few minutes), simply laughing.

When their laughter died, Keith looked at Lance with a shaky smile. "Uh, thanks. That probably saved me a lot of bruises and one hell of a hospital bill."

"Any time." Unfortunately, Lance's way of coping with the immensely stressful situation manifested itself in the form of a bad pickup line. "Could you say you were... falling for me?" Lace purred, giving Keith his signature smoulder- to no avail. He did, however, get a rather impressively presented middle finger. Well, at least he knew Keith hadn't hit his head.  
~~~

After his little spat with death, Keith was secretly relieved when Lance suggested they call it a tie (just this once) and head back to the car. They also surmised that it was in both of their best interests that they not recount the incident to the other two, given the way the both of them landed and the potential for more teasing from Pidge. On their trek back, they ran into Pidge and Hunk, who were also more than happy to call it a day as well. 

When the four of them were safely in the car, Keith sucked in what felt like his first real breath since the almost-fall. He'd never admit it, but the incident had legitimately scared him out of his wits; he was incredibly relieved that he landed on top of... well, Lance, rather than a cactus or boulder. That aside, he had enjoyed the hike, even with Lance there the whole time. If anything, Lance almost made the hike more interesting. Almost.

"Is anyone up to grab something to eat?" Hunk's eager voice was thinly veiled by an unconvincing tone of nonchalance. 

"Yeah," the other three chimed, exhausted. 

Keith could not remember a hike that had ever taken so much out of him. His shirt was soaked with perspiration under the collar and against his back, and his boots were now caked with a layer of dirt. Wild strands of hair clung to his temples and forehead, and he was sure that the rest of his hair hadn't fared much better style wise. Peering into his backpack, he grabbed his red canteen and swished the contents around inside. It was still at least half full; he'd hardly had anything to drink during the hike. 

"Hey! Let's go to Altea Diner! It's only a few miles from campus and has the best milkshakes ever," gushed Lance. 

'Not a bad idea," Pidge said, staring dejectedly at her stomach. 

"Thoughts, Keith?" Hunk readjusted and re-tied his bandana in the rearview mirror, eyes looking imploringly at the sweaty, dusty mess sitting behind him. 

"Honestly, I'm happy with anything as long as I get to eat something."

"Altea Diner it is!" Hunk announced, and Lance cheered loudly from the seat next to Keith. His face was covered in a fine coating of dust and his usually tame dark caramel hair stuck up at odd angles. His blue muscle tee was also dirty- especially his back, which was immediately caked with dirt when the two of them had landed. Nonetheless, his blue eyes still glinted with excitement. How did the guy manage to be so upbeat all the time? 

One long drive and two road games later, the Bananamobile screeched its way into the parking lot of a small restaurant. A retro-looking neon sign reading Altea Diner flashed over the front entrance, whose doors were painted a faded pale pink. When Lance pushed the door open, a bell tinkled above their heads, prompting a man at the front counter to look up and smile cheerfully at them.

"Hello there, and welcome to Altea Diner! You four are in luck; it's our slow hour, so virtually nobody's here right now. Sit anywhere you'd like," the man chirped. He had a head of fiery orange hair and a matching bushy mustache was perched above his upper lip. A name tag pinned on his soft pastel uniform read "Coran". Smile lines creased at the corners of his twinkling blue eyes as he grandly gestured to the rest of the diner.

It was like something out of a 1950's summer flick. Vintage red booths and pristine cream-colored tables dotted the floor, which was covered in black and white square tiles. Multicolored neon piping ran along the walls and ceiling, brightly illuminating the interior. Various shades of red, blue, green, yellow, and black adorned stools that sat at the edge of a milkshake bar. 

Hunk and Lance slid into one side of a booth by a large window. Pidge and Keith followed suit, sliding into the other side. The booths were pleasantly cushy and comfortable and Keith relished the feeling of sinking into his seat, relaxing and stretching his legs. 

A few minutes later, Coran came over with four waters. "Don't mind my asking, but what happened to the four of you?" he asked, not unkindly. 

"Someone-" Pidge shot Lance a glare, which he acknowledged with an guilty grin. "suggested the we go on a hike today in the boiling heat."

"Three words." Hunk chimed in. "Hot. Dusty. Exhausting."

""Sounds like a lot of work," Coran agreed. "How about a beverage of your choice on the house each?"

"Really?" Lance perked up. "You'd do that?"

"Of course. Looks like you four more than deserve it." Coran winked at him and handed them each a menu.

"Thank you so much!" Hunk smiled delightedly at the older man, evidently grateful for the gesture. Keith said nothing, but managed to smile in what he desperately hoped was a charming fashion.

His eyes scanned over the menu he held in his dirty hands. It matched the rest of the diner, brightly colored and vibrant. The drink menu had a variety of different drinks, and Keith eyed the list of soft drinks. 

"Oh, look!" Lance nudged Hunk and pointed to an item on his menu.

"Wow, finally a place that still has them in bottles and not on tap! Go for it, dude."

Keith wondered if he had pointed out some form of beer or liquor, but any and all types of alcohol were conspicuously absent from the menu. In fact, the majority of the drinks that were listed were simple sodas. studying the menu, his eyes landed on a soda that he'd had a lot when he was a kid. 

"I'll have a rootbeer float, if that's alright," Hunk said politely.

"I'll take the Sprite," Pidge added.

"I'll go with the Fanta," said Keith, remembering long summers in Shiro's backyard, sipping happily from glass bottles of orange soda. 

"And I'll have a Cherry Coke," Lance finished. So that was what he was so excited to order. The four thanked their waiter again as he scribbled down their drink requests. A minute later, Coran finished writing down their orders and flipped his notepad shut, returning to the bar area with a pleasant smile on his face.

Tired, dusty, and sticky with sweat, the four friends sat in the ruby-colored booth discussing how nice it was of Coran to give them complimentary drinks, then moving on to less exciting topics, like math classes and some horrendous formula used to determine something even more headache inducing. Apparently, Professor Iverson wasn't a teacher to mess with. 

Coran returned less than five minutes later with a tray holding four bottles of variously colored drinks, one topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. He placed the drinks on the table and left with a kind wink. 

Keith reveled in the sweet orange soda and let it slide down his throat, feeling the comforting fizz of the bubbles against his lips and insides of his mouth. He sipped on his red straw, listening to the other three excitedly chatter about the best soda brands. The taste of the soda helped to ease the dusty feeling in his throat and he thought back to the Fourth of July a couple summers before Shiro went off to college.

"So, Mullet. We need your help breaking the three way tie." Lance's voice pulled him out of his nostalgic reverie. "Rootbeer floats, Sprite, or Cherry Coke?"

"I don't know," Keith said noncommittally. "Never had Cherry Coke before."

"Never had Cherry Coke?" Lance gasped. "It's the best thing in the entire world!"

Keith shrugged. "I'm sure I'll try it at some point."

Lance shook his head and reached across the table, pressing the cold glass of his bottle into Keith's hands. "Try some of mine," he offered. His cerulean eyes looked right into Keith's. "You'll love it."

Keith clutched the bottle with both hands and looked into the reddish-caramel liquid. Tiny bubbles rose up to the surface, where they sat languidly for a moment before fizzing up and popping in the air. Soft music floated through the air, wrapping around him before swirling through the rest of the diner. He looked back up at Lance, who gave him an encouraging nod. Keith paused for a moment, regarding the tiny flecks of gold in the other boy's eyes that he'd never noticed before. 

He close his lips around the straw that was delicately placed in the Cherry Coke and took a small sip of the reddish liquid. It was sweet- not in the sharp, tangy way of orange soda, but in a softer, gentler way of its own. It was pleasantly cool and Keith relished the way it left a small tingle in his throat. He slid the Cherry Coke back across the table to Lance, the aftertaste of the sweet drink lingering in his throat. 

Keith may have just found a new favorite soda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for bearing with me so far. I'm really going to work on timing and updating more frequently, now that I have a general direction to take this piece in. Lots of love!!


	3. Something About Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one can be a little more *promiscuous* (I'm kidding. It's not that bad in the slightest. But if you're like, ten or under, be warned, I guess. Also, language. Yeet.)

Keith idly flicked his mechanical pencil, watching it roll across the class as Professor Miller droned on about the slope of a something something something and how it affected the value of x. He let it roll tumble down the slope of the desk to meet his index finger before giving it the tiniest nudge and watching it roll back up again.

"Psst." Keith looked to his left at Lance, who was awkwardly leaning over in his seat. The tip of his pencil was pointing to a detailed diagram that was displayed on the page of his textbook. "Do you have any idea what this means?"

It had turned out that not only did Keith and Lance have astronomy together- they also shared the same math class. It had at first resulted in more than a few petty arguments in the initial week, what with the teacher having sat them next to each other and all, but had later turned into grudging acceptance.

"Have you not been listening at all?" Keith hissed. "We went over that twenty minutes ago!"

"So math isn't my strong suit! Sue me," Lance said curtly, eyeing the pencil Keith was fiddling with. "It doesn't look like you're exactly enthralled by the lecture either."

"At least I've been processing what he's been saying for the past half hour," Keith scoffed. Lance gave him what was obviously meant to be a sorrowful pout but came off more as a grimace.

"Ugh, fine. Here." He leaned over to get a better view of Lance's book and jabbed the eraser of his pencil at the diagram, explaining the significance of each figure in a hushed tone. When Lance seemed to finally piece it together, Keith straightened up again in his seat.

"You're such a lifesaver, Mullet," Lance announced pleasantly, grinning widely at the dark-haired boy. "Couldn't have done it without you."

"So I gathered," Keith deadpanned. Lance crossed his arms and huffed loudly while giving Keith one whopper of a side-eye, blue eyes narrowed in faux indignation.

Within a few minutes, Keith's attention had again slipped away and he found himself aimlessly doodling on the lined sheet of paper that lay before him. His pencil curved and wound along the surface of the corner of the page, almost as if an invisible thread were guiding it rather than his hand. The end result was a rather average-looking sketch of a cat's eye, its pupil a contracted sliver. He set his pencil down and examined the side of his hand, which was now smudged with gray. 

After what felt like an eternity and a half, the monotone voice that had very nearly bored Keith to death ceased its torturous lecture and dismissed the group of restless students from its reign of terror. Keith stuffed his now fully drawn on page into his bag and nodded an amicable goodbye to the taller boy as he cut through the wave of bodies to escape the stifling, stale air of the classroom. 

He checked his phone reflexively, and noticed that he had a text from Shiro. Keith unlocked his phone and tapped the messages app, tapping Shiro's contact. His eyes ran over the old contact picture he had for his friend, knowing just how horrified the other would be if he knew that the photo still lingered. It had been taken years ago and was definitely not the most flattering picture in existence- which was one of the many reasons why Keith treasured it so much. His eyes returned to the text he had received a few minutes earlier.

 *Dentures* 

_Hey dude, you there?_

Keith had entered this in as Shiro's contact as retaliation for the older boy always teasing him about being younger. For his eighteenth birthday, Keith had gifted him with a pack of denture cream, a bottle of gummy vitamins, and a Life Alert. The look on his friend's face was almost as hilarious as Keith's "care package".

*Keith*

_Yeah_

*Dentures*

_My old friend from college is throwing a party tonight to kick off the start of the school year_

_Want to come with?_

He hesitated for a moment before typing out an answer.

*Keith*

_I would if the majority of the planet wasn't so..._

*Dentures*

_Social?_

*Keith*

_Obnoxious._

*Dentures*

_Come on, it's just one party. Maybe you'll meet a cute guy and get lucky ;)_

*Keith*

_Imagine what your parents would do if they found out that you were urging me to go to a college party and hook up with some random dude._

*Dentures*

_They would tell you to listen to me and lighten up!_

*Keith*

_We both know that's not what they would say._

*Dentures*

_I'm paraphrasing_

_Anyways, just come for a couple of hours! You'll enjoy yourself_

*Keith*

_Won't they all be like your age anyways? I prefer not to party with senior citizens._

*Dentures*

_1\. Matt's little sister and a couple of her friends are going to be there, and they're all your age_

_2\. Shut up_

*Keith*

_Fine_

_But only for a couple hours._

_And if I see one person drinking prune juice, I'm outta there_

*Dentures*

_Knew you'd give in_

_Anyways, the party's at 8 tonight and will probably go until everyone's passed out on the floor_

*Keith*

_Sounds like a real blast_

_How come you assumed I'm not busy, anyways?_

*Dentures*

_Because it's a Friday and you don't have work_

_And when you aren't working, you're either playing with your bike, beating up a punching bag, or watching some History Channel special on aliens._

*Keith*

_Fuck off_

*Dentures*

_You love me though_

_I'll be at your dorm by 7:45_

_Also, don't dress emo._

*Keith* 

_Fine_

_I don't "dress emo"_

*Dentures*

_Believe what you want._

Keith shoved his phone in his back pocket, examining the bruise on his forearm that he earned while sparring two days prior. It was small and purple, not especially noticeable. What did Shiro mean by "don't dress emo"? Keith didn't dress emo. Granted, he didn't wear preppy clothes or dress like the ultimate dudebro, but that was because those types of guys typically ended up being dickheads. 

He reached his building at a leisurely pace, pushing open the plain beige doors with the assistance of a friendly autumn breeze. Keith climbed up the stairs leading to his floor in no hurry, distracted by memories of his last parties. 

None of them had been particularly enjoyable, between the drunk people passed out on the floor among cheap red cups and the choking smell of weed that invaded his lungs. Having to watch messy makeouts that were way too handsy to be considered child-appropriate was the cherry on top, for sure. The day he was pressed up against a cold wall with someone sucking at his face would be the day Satan himself dragged Keith by the ankle all the way to hell. 

He unlocked his door and dropped his bag to the floor with a thump. Next to go were his boots, which were unceremoniously kicked off and flung aside. The feel of the cold linoleum through his socks made for an uncomfortable trip into his bedroom, to say the least. He flopped onto his comforter, nearly landing on his laptop that lay in the center. 

Keith's room was arguably plain- the majority of his belongings were stashed away in drawers or boxes in the form of pictures and trinkets from when he was a kid. He had his old Daft Punk poster that he purchased when he was fifteen hanging above the headboard of his bed (Daft Punk wasn't even considered an emo band, for the record). It was black with the words  _Random Access Memories_ scrawled messily across the middle in red. In the corner opposite his bed was his desk, on which sat a small black lamp and cup filled with various pencils and pens. 

He opened the top drawer of the small nightstand next to his bed and withdrew a round wooden ball about the size of a tangerine. Keith rolled it around in his palm for a minute, then held it between his index finger and thumb. He turned it over and over, examining the tiny grooves and nicks in the smooth wood that had accumulated over the course of his years having it. The orb was made out of sandalwood, and still retained the same earthy scent as the day he'd found it.

It had been a rainy spring morning in fourth grade, and Keith's to-do list was completely booked. He had a full day of splashing in puddles to accomplish and would not be deterred from his mission (even when he was little, Keith was the most stubborn child there was). He and Shiro had just found the best puddle for splashing in the entire universe when a small object rolled into the younger boy's line of sight. Dashing over, he determined it to be a little wooden ball.

Keith had waved his friend over in jubilation, picking up the ball triumphantly and showing it off as if it were made of solid gold. "This is my ball now," he said proudly, satisfied with the treasure that he had the good luck to come across. Later that day, he had tucked it into the folds of his large red raincoat and delivered it home with the utmost care, parading it around the house with his arm that contained the ball raised high in the air. 

Truthfully, it was just a ball. It wasn't really made of solid gold, and it wasn't a life-changing day by any stretch of the imagination. To Keith, however, it was his self-proclaimed "good luck ball" from that day forward. Without fail, he'd always make sure to tap on his good luck ball on the day of a test, class field trip, or anything that would require some amount of luck to tackle. When he grew older, however, the good luck ball was a frequent way to ask for the inner strength to not sock someone in the nose. 

He dutifully tapped his good luck ball and fervently hoped that he'd be able to sneak out of the party unnoticed later. Nothing very interesting happened at those, anyways. 

~~~

"Hell yeah! First college party, baby!" Lance pumped his fist into the air. He grinned excitedly at his two friends, one of which rolled her eyes and looked back down at her computer in disinterest. Hunk, loyal as ever, met Lance in a fist bump, expression matching that of his lanky friend.

"I don't see why you two are so pumped about this," Pidge commented, eyes still diverted to her screen.

"Because, Pidge," Lance explained, "it's a college party! And your brother- the host, might I add- got us in! That means hot older guys and gals that'll fall victim to my effortless charm!"

"Questionable logic," she responded simply. Lance frowned at her.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, nothing." Pidge waved him off quickly. "Anyways, I think Matt is going to regret inviting you two soon enough. Five bucks says you're both total lightweights."

"Am not!" Hunk and Lance chimed. 

Lance stuck up his nose and peered down at her. "I'll have you know that I am in fact not a lightweight."

"You know this because you've drank alcohol before?" Pidge countered. Lance opened his mouth to respond before she cut him off. "And I don't mean a sip of beer on accident."

Lance closed his mouth again, having no good comeback at the moment. With his luck one would eventually come to him five or so minutes later, when the debate was over and the comebacks irrelevant. Typical.

"So the party starts at eight, right?" Hunk ignored the moody look on his friend's face and turned inquisitively to Pidge. She nodded, typing furiously on her laptop. Her fingers flew swiftly over the keys as she punched out row after row of computer coding.

"That gives us about three hours," Lance surmised, previous gloom forgotten. He counted it out on his fingers. "I'll need at least half an hour for skin care, another hour to pick out to wear, and then-"

"Lance," Pidge cut in impatiently. "It's a party. Not the Grammy awards ceremony."

"I know, but what if I meet someone cute and I'm dressed like I crawled out of a dumpster?"

"Then you'll know they're a keeper based on whether they hold up through a conversation with a garbage man or not." Pidge smirked at her computer screen. The brightness of the computer screen bounced off of her glasses and obscured her eyes.

"Gee, thanks, Pidge. You sure know how to make a guy feel better." Lance put his hands on his hips and leaned forward. "Would you consider being a therapist someday?"

"Something like that." Pidge's fluffy hair bobbed in sarcastic agreement as she finally made eye contact with the much taller boy. She shut her laptop, obviously satisfied with whatever progress she had made on... whatever she was doing. 

"Should we bring food?" Hunk's warm eyes lit up at the prospect of trying out new recipes and testing them in the field. He looked hopefully at Pidge, who sighed and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose again in exasperation.

"Hunk. This is a college party; the only food there will most likely be Doritos, shady punch, pizza, and cheap alcohol."

"Matt's not some crazy drunk who eats only hangover food," Hunk reminded her.

"Matt's essentially a big ten year old who doubles as a meme and loves nothing more than a wild party," she replied simply. Hunk gave her a deadpan stare, head half-tilted to the side. 

"True enough," Lance added.  "Can you think of a single party where the kids ate anything other than Redbull and pizza?"

"Thanks for the assist, buddy," Hunk said dryly, and Lance shrugged noncommittally. It was true; the majority of the parties they'd gone to during their high school years had crappy food and even crappier drinks. After their first one, Hunk resolved to just cook for them beforehand so they wouldn't have to endure the god-awful cuisine served during their late-night activities. 

After Pidge had headed back to her dorm to "get ready" (Lance knew this was just her excuse to get some peace and quiet; not once had Pidge ever dressed up for a party), the two remaining boys were left with a closet full of clothes and counter filled with ingredients. Hunk mentioned making something to eat, grumbling about how he may as well do it now since his talents weren't appreciated elsewhere. 

Lance wandered into their bedroom and slid open the closet, gazing at the mass of clothing held inside. A collection of variously colored clothing items dangled lazily from an assortment of  hangers. Lance's were all hung on black hangers with a blue stripe around the hook, while Hunk's were slung over brown hangers adorned with a yellow stripe. Hunk had sighed loudly when Lance suggested it at first but cracked a grin at his friend's organization tactics. 

He rifled through the assorted shirts once, then again, and then a third time; his fingers nimbly darted around the fabric as Lance plucked out shirts that he deemed fit to wear to a party. He tugged his current shirt over his head and slipped Option numero uno over his head. It was a slate gray short-sleeved button up- a casual but objectively preppy looking piece. He did a full-circle turn in the mirror, examining the folds of material and debating whether or not it was too dressy looking. Lance pulled it off again and set it carefully to his right on the bed, deciding it was too nice to wear to a simple party. 

Option two seemed more plausible, a royal blue long sleeve that was always one of Lance's top three choices. It was a v-neck and was cut in a flattering fashion, the cotton fabric wrapping lazily around his lean frame. Option three was a simple white t-shirt; simple and practical, but to wear it to a messy party would be like asking fate to spill a SOLO cup full of beer all down his front. After a few more shirts slipped on and off of his torso, Lance called his best friend into the room to weigh in on his options.

"What do you think, buddy?" Lance had three shirts laid out on his bed (one of which was the long sleeve). Hunk stood pondering for a minute, eyeing the three tops his friend had pulled out. 

"I'd say that one," Hunk responded finally. He pointed to the shirt on the left, which Lance held up for clarification. "Yeah, that one." 

Lance exchanged his shirt for the one Hunk had chosen, clapping the bigger boy on his broad shoulder gratefully. "Thanks, dude. What would I ever do without you?"

"Wear the same long sleeve for the rest of your days," Hunk chuckled. 

"True enough. We still have another hour to kill- did you cook up another delicious meal, oh amazing chef of mine?" Lance fluttered his eyelashes exaggeratedly, earning a jovial nod from his friend. The lanky boy whooped and high fived the other. "You're the greatest best friend in the world, you know that?"

"Yeah, I know." Hunk assured him. He grinned and jerked his head toward their kitchen, motioning for Lance to follow. The sweet smell of baked goods furled into Lance's nose, making his stomach growl appreciatively. He unconsciously glided towards the source of the delicious smell and ended up in front of a cooling rack filled to the brim with cookies. Next to it sat a serving bowl full of salad and plate stacked with sandwiches. 

Lance thanked his lucky stars for having a best friend whose parents ran a grocery store. Through their generosity, the two boys were guaranteed four years of college without having to worry about eating food bought from a local Rite Aid. He glanced over at his best friend, eyes shining with hungry anticipation. Hunk steered him over to the table and sat him down, venturing back to the counter and returning with their food. 

"May I take a second and reiterate: what would I do without you?" Lance handed his friend a fluffy sandwich and scooped salad onto their plates. He then grabbed a warm cookie and bit into it, smiling around the crumbs. Hunk always made the best cookies- crispy on the edges, crumbly on the top, and soft in the middle. Sugar flooded his palate, followed by a burst of dark chocolate as he munched into the center of the cookie. 

Not even twenty minutes later, Lance had plowed through a sandwich, two servings of salad, and four cookies. He hadn't realized just how hungry he was until the first bite of sandwich made it past his lips; he hadn't eaten much other than some chips and a mango smoothie he bought from the one of the campus' snack bars. They sat idly talking for a bit, Lance impulsively snacking on cookies sporadically throughout the conversation.

Lance dusted off his hands, satisfied with his meal. "Once again, you haven't failed to impress, _mi amigo_." 

"I aim to please." Hunk stood up and checked the time on the stove, then turned to Lance. "We should head out to pick up Pidge," he said, grinning excitedly.  
Lance grabbed the keys to the Bananamobile and tossed them to Hunk. The yellow keychain of a lion jangled merrily on its loop. Hunk had bought it from a cheap gift store a few years back despite Lance's protests of the blue one being cooler (a decision that he still stood by) and had clipped it onto his key ring when he first claimed the Bananamobile as his own. "First college party, here we come!"

~~~

"Why did I let you drag me into this?" Keith groaned. Shiro had his forearm in a vice-like grip to prevent him from retreating back into the car and was pulling him toward the front door of a large two-story house. "And how is this guy's house so big for a college graduate?" The house was only a couple minutes' drive from the campus, but Shiro had insisted on picking Keith up personally.

"Matt's dad is a pretty high up dude at NASA or something," Shiro replied. "Matt's working there part-time and is maximizing the benefits, along with a couple of our other friends who are staying and helping with the rent. Also, you agreed to this. I have proof on my phone." He smiled smugly at the long-haired boy, who grumbled in response. 

It was that point of autumn where the sky begins to darken around 6:30, leaving a chill in the air and the sound of rustling leaves turned orange. At seven the two boys had pulled up beside the curb, Shiro coaxing a reluctant Keith out of the passenger side with the promise to introduce him to Matt's younger sister and her friends. 

"I can find them myself, thanks," Keith had muttered through gritted teeth. 

Thrumming, pounding music filled his ears as Keith wearily trudged up the worn steps to Matt' house. It reverberated around his skull, invading every crevice of his mind and ping-ponging off the walls of his brain. The house's windows glowed with multicolored light that reflected onto the lawn and sidewalk, casting long shadows across the front area. 

Shiro was the first to reach the large double doors and knocked on the solid wood loudly. It was evident that nobody heard him, however, and he instead opted to turn the doorknob. It complied thi time, swinging open to reveal a sizeable crowd dancing wildly in the entryway. The older boy stepped forward into the threshold of the house and beckoned for Keith to follow.

Keith moved into the house and wove through the mass of writhing bodies after Shiro at a snail's pace. Hips and shoulders and hands all moved against him, pressing against him haphazardly as their owners moved to the pounding beat. He felt the warmth of another's breath on his neck, making the fine black hairs there stand on end. A girl ground back onto him, cutting him off as Shiro moved through the crowd and into the next room. He huffed impatiently as the older boy faded out of sight and stepped away from the girl. Whatever, he could handle one party without having to trail Shiro like a lost puppy the whole time.

The beat of the music picked up, as did the movements of the partiers around Keith. Their dancing was less of actual dancing as it was grinding and rolling on each other. He could spot at least two pairs of guys, a pair of girls, and four straight couples making out in that room alone. More than a couple of them were feeling each other up in a way that should definitely be done in private. Oh boy. Raging hormones plus alcohol equalled lots of horny teenagers. Keith desperately hoped that he'd make it through the night without some drunken girl trying to get into his pants again. 

He cut across the room into the kitchen, where he grabbed a cup and filled it with suspicious-looking punch. Keith took a tentative sip and wrinkled his nose at the strong taste of mixed alcohols that burned his throat when he swallowed. No water was in sight, however, and Keith was thirsty (in the literal sense, of course). He resolved to take small sips of his drink here and there, watching the liquid slosh around in his cup. The bass of the music pounded on in his ears, coursing through his body. 

A group of guys in boardshorts and tacky sunglasses sauntered into the kitchen, raising their voices and talking in slurred speech. One of them, a tall boy with spiky blond hair, wrapped his arm around a girl who was talking next to him and pulled her into a drunken kiss, which she returned with fervor. Keith's drink burned at the back of his throat as he watched the messy spectacle with barely hidden annoyance. The use of tongue was overwhelming and none too charming. The guy's friends were laughing obnoxiously, some equally involved with girls of their own. These seemed to be the resident fraternity members, some of which Keith actually recognized when he looked closer.

Put off by the overly touchy sight, Keith wondered again why he agreed to this and exited the kitchen, moving into the main room (though not before getting a refill of the punch). What was in that stuff, anyways? He felt a sheen of sweat begin to bead at his hairline and hurriedly wiped it away with his free hand. As he roamed into the larger room, he almost crashed into the person in front of him. They'd abruptly stopped to talk to a boy off the the side and Keith scoffed in annoyance, skirting around them. 

The room was a hot, sticky, sweaty mess of bodies that rolled and swayed to the bass of the music. Clusters of people stood chatting around the edges of the room, which was littered with trash and empty red cups. The smell of alcohol was almost overwhelming, and it was combined with the faint scent of sweat that emanated off of the partiers. A dampness hung n the air and permeated Keith's shirt, leaving his hair stringy with moisture. The strands of black clung to his forehead as he took sips of his drink. 

Before he knew it, his second cup was gone, the liquid inside drained. Keith absentmindedly tossed the cup aside and found himself gravitating towards the throng of partygoers. Maybe it was the tequila mixture talking, but if he was going to be stuck at a massive college party for who knew how long, he might as well enjoy himself a little. Yeah, that was definitely the alcohol mixture talking. 

Keith pushed his way into the midst of the group, surrounding himself in the crushing mass of bodies. Suddenly, another girl moved in front of him and began grinding into him, twirling his inky hair around her slender finger. She giggled drunkenly, and in the darkened room Keith could barely make out the shimmer of her eyeshadow as she winked at him. "Care to join me?" she murmured. 

Keith shook his head no, recoiling from the feeling of her fingers dragging along his cheek. She huffed impatiently and wandered off to try and find another target, staggering just the faintest bit. The heavy air swirled around his body, coiling around his waist and seeping into his pores. The back of his neck was damp with perspiration as well. He suddenly regretted throwing his cup away and made off into the kitchen to retrieve another. 

When he returned, the music had abandoned its prior upbeat hum. It warped into something slower and heavier, the bass deep and tantalizing. Keith took another sip of his drink, this one less controlled. The concoction no longer burned his throat and he knew in the back of his mind that it was the alcohol kicking in. 

A jolt ran through his hands as a pair of hands wound around his waist. Keith was about to jerk out of their grasp until he noticed they were... male? At this alone, he felt his shoulders relax a bit (thank the lord he wasn't going to have to ward off another girl) and let himself move a bit in rhythm with the stranger's hands. The hands roamed up and down his sides, grabbing at the thin fabric of his black t-shirt. They moved up to curl into his hair and then back down to brush the burning skin of his neck. Ever loyal, the tips of Keith's ears were positively searing within minutes. 

His affliction only worsened when the hands' owner pressed his body up against Keith's. The other male was taller, more slender than Keith was; he managed to envelop the raven-haired boy in a winding embrace as the two of them moved in sync. The music took on a sultry tone as the other boy suddenly was forced closer to Keith, most likely by the surrounding hordes of people. The two of them snaked and ground and blurred together, as if they were no longer two entities but one. 

"Getting into it, aren't you?" The other boy's voice purred in his ear. It sounded oddly familiar; the realization fought through the haze of the alcohol in Keith's mind, but he brushed it off. Keith nodded, hands reaching down to clasp the slender tan ones that were holding his hips captive. Another thought moved through his mind, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.  
The hands then moved up to his shoulders, making to turn Keith around so he could face the stranger. He complied, heart battering against his ribcage. It threatened to pound out of his chest; his breathing was irregular and ragged. He slowly turned around and tilted his head up to meet the eyes of the other boy.

They were very, very blue.

~~~

Oh shit.

No, no. 

No, no no no no. 

"Keith?" Lance's eyes widened in surprise as his fellow dancer turned around. Blue eyes met violet ones, which also widened in shock.

"Uh..." the dark-haired boy uttered. He had turned an alarming shade of fire engine red within no more than a second and a half. Their hands quickly removed themselves from the others' bodies and dropped to their sides. Lance's felt heavy, his mind still reeling. 

"Let's not tell the others about this." Lance's tongue stumbled over itself as he raced to prevent the situation from becoming worse. If Keith bolted, they probably wouldn't talk again for the rest of the decade.

Keith bobbed his head fervently, face still crimson. He opened his mouth, which had been pulled into a small line- then closed it again before running an embarrassed hand through his hair. "Shit." 

"Shit is right," Lance muttered, eyes scanning over the rest of the floor. People were seeming to take no notice of them, still grinding and pushing up against each other. He searched frantically for something to say. "Can we, uh, try and forget this?"

Once again, Keith hurriedly nodded his head, the locks of hair plastered to his head glowing red in the colored light. "Yeah. For sure."

"Okay then. Let's go see what Pidge and Hunk are doing, and if anyone asks, we saw each other in the punch line." Lance looked at Keith's face, which was still just as flushed. He quickly averted the gaze and pretended to be interested in his nail beds. 

Keith made a noise of assent and Lance whirled around quickly, no longer able to meet the raven-haired boy's eyes. How the hell did Lance not recognize the telltale mullet? Sure, he may have gotten a little tipsy (or more than a little) and that may have messed with his brain processes a little, but that haircut was the most recognizable thing on the planet! Why the hell was Keith even at the party in the first place? Stupid Keith. He cursed himself under his breath, stalking through the kitchen to find their friends.

Of course out of all people in the crowd, Lance had to go and grind on his self proclaimed arch-rival. Lord knew how he'd be able to make eye contact with Keith again- much less have a conversation- when all he'd think of were swaying hips and sweat running down a pale neck. Hands over his own, guiding them up and down toned sides, dark hair glinting in the red light- Lance stopped himself short before his imagination wandered any farther than it already had. Forgetting an incident meant not thinking about it, he reminded himself sharply. The reminder lasted for a solid three seconds before his mind waltzed back to the encounter.

Lance swore silently at himself and quickened his pace, banishing all thoughts of his rival from his mind. It was only the drinks taking effect on him- he'd be thinking the same thoughts about anyone else in the house, had they been in Keith's position instead. His heart jumped in relief as he caught sight of Hunk's yellow bandanna, sticking out like a flag among the sea of people. Lance made a beeline for his friend, fixing his face so he wouldn't look like he wanted to melt into the floor. 

"Hey, dude!" Hunk greeted him, not having moved from where he was when Lance left him. He had been talking to Shay, the girl with the short hair from Lance's class. She gave him a kind wave. "Are you alright?" Okay, so maybe Lance's attempt at looking calm and collected was falling a little short.

"Yeah," he stammered out, forcing a grin onto his face. "Doing great." Nailed it.

Hunk looked at him with a quizzical expression on his face but said nothing more about it. "Hey, Keith! What're you doing here, man?"

"Uh, hey," Keith said from beside Lance, who was intent on not looking at the shorter boy. "My friend- Shiro, actually- is good friends with the guy throwing this party. He forced me to come with."

"Wait- as in Professor Shiro?" Pidge piped up from beside Hunk. "That Shiro?"

"Yeah, that's the one." Keith shifted uncomfortably from beside Lance, who pointedly ignored the observation that in doing so, the shorter boy's elbow had knocked against his own. "He's pretty much my older brother."

"Pretty much?" Hunk cocked his head questioningly, but dropped the subject at the closed off look plastered on the raven's face. 

"That's cool," Pidge said, stepping in at the look on Keith's still sort of flushed face. Lance decided to chalk it up to the strong alcoholic mixture working its way through his system. "Matt's my older brother and made the mistake of inviting these two." 

"Ouch," Lance countered. He fixed the short girl with a glare, before jabbing his thumb at himself. "I like to think of myself as the life of the party." 

Pidge's mouth coiled into a wry smile, her glasses refracting the flashing lights. "Sure, sure. Anyways, how're you liking the party, Keith? Meet fellas you deem attractive?"

Keith shifted his weight next to Lance, making an obvious effort not to look at the tanner boy beside him. His violet eyes glinted in the glow, the lights above shifting from red to blue to green to yellow and back again in an endless cycle. They bounced off of his hair, highlighting every stray strand of the dark tresses. Not that Lance noticed, of course. "No, I've just been wandering. Trying to keep from being stampeded by a herd of drunken frat boys has kept me preoccupied for the time being," the shorter boy lied. 

Lance let out a tiny breath of relief he hadn't realized he was holding. He had known Keith wouldn't have told that the two of them had... danced together, but it was pretty stressful nonetheless. He could picture Pidge cackling in his mind's eye, followed by Hunk clutching his sides with laughter. Just the thought of the incident made his face grow warm with embarrassment. 

Lance knew that no matter what either of them claimed, neither he nor Keith was fucked up enough to forget the event the next day. Which meant, unfortunately, he would have to deal with the memory of literally grinding his hips down onto Keith, who in turn rolled his back up into Lance's, their hands clasped- nope. Nope nope nope. Not thinking about that. 

"Hey, Shay, would you be up for telling me a bit more about what it's like majoring in geology? It sounds really cool!" Hunk was watching the darker-skinned girl with eager eyes, who smiled softly in return. 

Lance smirked to himself. He knew that Hunk had virtually zero interest in geology- it was Shay who his attention was turned to. The larger boy had met her in the café the first week of school, as he told Lance, and it didn't take very long for him to a burgeoning crush to develop. She also baked, which meant it was pretty much written in the stars, as Lance so happily proclaimed. He knew when a relationship was imminent. It was in his romantic nature, after all. 

"Yeah, totally!" She beckoned towards the backyard, bangle bracelets clinking happily on her wrists. "Let's talk outside- it's pretty loud in here."

"Sure thing!" Hunk all but skipped out the door after her, briefly turning to flash Lance an elated thumbs-up, which the leaner boy happily returned with a knowing wink. 

"Ugh, I'm off to find Matt," Pidge said, pocketing her phone. She raised her eyebrows at the two remaining boys. "Don't annihilate each other, ok? Matt's pretty cool but I don't think anyone would appreciate it if the house spontaneously imploded."

"No implosions here," Lance promised, palms facing up in a surrendering gesture. She nodded, smiling wryly and slipped into the crowd of people, small frame disappearing instantaneously. Her absence left the Latino with one other boy- the subject of his awkward encounter.

"And the there were two," Lance joked. Keith remained silent and stared hard at his feet. The left boot was tapping persistently on the wooden flooring in a fast-paced rhythm. He sighed, and snapped his fingers beside the raven's ear, causing him to look up, startled. "Look, dude. That was possibly the most traumatizing thing ever, I agree. I may have to go home and bleach my hands and pants."

"Thanks, Lance. Problem solved. I'll go home and just fill up a bathtub with Clorox," Keith deadpanned, not blinking once under Lance's cerulean gaze.

 " _Dios mio_ , I'm not finished," Lance huffed. He folded his arms and matched the other's challenging stare. "Listen, can we just acknowledge that it happened and try to move on? I trust that you can refrain from jerking it right here and now, regardless of my effortless charm, correct?"

"That won't be a problem," Keith growled, and Lance refrained from commenting on the flush tainting his pale face and the tips of his ears. If it had been anyone else, Lance would have thought it was almost cute. This was Keith, however, Lance reminded himself, so it thereby was not cute. 

"So we can agree that this was simply a drunk error?" On impulse, he stuck out his right hand. Keith looked at him, confused. "You shake it," Lance deadpanned helpfully, earning an eye roll from the other before a reluctant hand in return. They shook, and Lance noted how Keith's hand felt in his own before snorting at himself for noticing such a ridiculous detail. 

"Sooo..." Keith rubbed the back of his neck, fixing Lance with a searching gaze. "What now?"

"Now," Lance announced excitedly, a bright gleam in his eyes, "We get wasted!"

He grabbed Keith's wrist, and dragged him towards the kitchen. "Let's see, where's some stuff to drink? And none of that mystery drink, either; that looks questionable as hell."

Keith glanced around the crowded kitchen, neck straining as he searched for something other than the shady punch. Suddenly, he darted away from Lance, who threw his hands up after him  
incredulously. "What the hell, man? Ditching me?" 

Moments later, the raven returned, a victorious smile playing on his lips and a bottle of vodka in his hand, along with two shot glasses. "Have a little faith, Sharpshooter." He swirled the bottle experimentally, before leading the taller boy to a small table with two chairs in the next room over. Lance dropped his hands resolutely and hid a small grin.

The chairs were tall and worn, covered in nicks which littered the surface of the table as well. Keith set the bottle and two glasses down on the hard surface of the table with a clink. He opened the bottle and watched the contents slosh around for a moment before expertly pouring two shots for them. 

"So, Mullet, got any drinking games up your sleeve?" Lance focused his eyes on the form of his classmate, who pondered for a second, dusky violet eyes flicking up to the ceiling.

"Well, since our last little get to know you session was so rudely interrupted by a near- death fall, what would you say to Never Have I Ever?" Lance nodded in agreement. It wasn't an especially original game, though perhaps the addition of vodka would make it a bit more entertaining. "Alright, let's get going." Keith smirked slyly. "But shots first."

Lance grinned. He'd been looking forward to getting wasted, and what better time to do it than while finding out all the hilariously embarrassing details of his arch-rival? "Three, two, one!" the brunet chimed, and threw back his glass, tipping the contents down his throat. The vodka burned as it went down and set his veins alight with a pleasant buzz. Lance held up five fingers compliantly, as did the raven sitting next to him, his palm much tanner when compared to the other boy's.

"Never have I ever..." Keith trailed off, mind evidently wandering before his eyes refocused. His mouth twisted into a plotting smile. "Made out with a dude." 

The question threw Lance for a second- hadn't Keith previously gone about fifty-two shades of red when talking about something even remotely sexual? Maybe that was the vodka working its magic on him- or perhaps the dark haired boy was finally lightening up. His mind returned to the statement, which he thought about for a second. Smugly reveling in Keith's surprised expression, he slowly brought his thumb to his palm. Damn, did he wish he had a camera. 

"You made out with a guy before?" Keith's mouth dropped open slightly, before snapping shut again. "You, the most insanely straight guy in existence?" 

Now it was Lance's turn to be shocked. Him, straight? Did Keith not notice the way he flirted with everyone he came into contact with? "Well, yeah," he said, a grin spreading across his tan face. "If you count the time I had a very intense kiss with Harrison Ford on my Raiders of the Lost Ark poster."

"That doesn't count, you douche!" Keith aimed a swat at the Cuban's head, who ducked, snickering. "But now I know that you made out with a poster and you at some point had a crush on the young Harrison Ford." 

"Once did, still do," Lance replied, finger circling the rim of his glass. "Who wouldn't swing both ways for Indiana Jones?"

"Fair enough," Keith admitted. "And now I know the infamous Lance McClain is not, in fact, straight as a pencil." 

"A little slow on the uptake, are we?" Lance scoffed. "You must have heard me flirt with Brent Edwards like, twelve times."

"I assumed you were joking around!" Keith protested, flinging his hands. 

"Straight guys don't joke around like that. Ever heard me say 'no homo'?" Lance waited for a moment before smirking in triumph. "Thought not." 

"Whatever," Keith snorted. "Put your finger back up; posters don't count as love interest."

"That was never specified," the brunet complained, but raised his thumb into the air again. 

Keith refilled the both of their glasses and raised his eyes challengingly. "Five bucks says you can't handle your liquor past five shots, McClain."

"Oh, it's so on! Ten bucks says I can hold it better than you, Mullet!" Lance tossed back his second shot quickly and slammed his glass down on the table in response. The raven smirked and quickly  
downed his as well. This guy never failed to get a rise out of him. 

"My turn!" Lance gleefully exclaimed. Time for him to find out about all of Keithy Boy's little exploits. "Never have I ever shoplifted."

Keith's eyes glinted as he flicked his thumb down. Upon seeing the tan boy's inquisitive gaze, he nodded at his gloves. "These things were crazy expensive. I only had five bucks in my pocket, and no way was I going to let them go. It was too easy- the guy at the counter was distracted talking to some lady and I just swiped them and walked out without him noticing." 

"Somehow, that is exactly the article of clothing I would expect you to steal," Lance responded dryly. He laughed, bringing his palm up to his forehead. "Not a sweet pair of shoes or a shirt, but a pair of leather fingerless gloves."

"What?" Keith's index finger traced the knuckles of his other hand absentmindedly, the tip of his finger trailing over the leather. "They look cool. Plus, the shop owner was a dick."

"That's fair. Hey, this'll be a third shot! Prepare for those five dollars to be mine!" Lance gloated, tipping his glass for Keith to pour another shot.

"That's what you're saying now, but it'll hit you soon," Keith challenged, violet eyes reflecting the multicolored lights. The music was loud but mellow, swirling languidly through the air around the two of them.

"Fine, you know what? Forget playing this game, I'll finish off the five now!" No way was Lance about to let his rival show him up- in drinking, of all things! He'd show that mullet-wearing fucker just who could hold his alcohol.

"Whatever you say, Sharpshooter." Keith's eyes glinted in amusement as he complied, pouring out two more shots for the Cuban boy. The clear liquid flowed smoothly into the glasses, splashing when it first hit the bottoms. "You sure about this?"

"Completely." Lance picked up the first glass, examining its contents before throwing them down his throat. It burned unpleasantly on the way down- Lance had tossed it down too quickly, causing him to splutter and pound his chest. The other boy didn't even try to hide a snigger as he watched the brunet cough, earning him an annoyed glare and middle finger.

"Completely," Keith mimicked, and Lance's face dropped into a deadpan stare. Apparently, the look on his face wasn't as intimidating as he hoped, for all this did was propel the raven into a fit of laughter.

"How touching," Lance said sardonically. "Now shut up while I take the next one, will you?"

"Let's hope you handle the next one as well as your last," Keith managed through bursts of laugher. Lance had to admit, it probably wasn't the most flattering thing to choke on your drink as you try to impress your rival with your shot-taking skills. Wait. No. Not impress- prove to him. That was it. His mind was in a bit of a daze from the vodka. 

At this point, the lanky boy's face had taken on a rosy flush, cheeks tinted by the vodka he had downed (albeit somewhat unsuccessfully). His voice slurred noticeably as he murmured a low "Bring it." The next shot went down without further complication, to Lance's satisfaction.

"See? Look'a that," he gloated through the cloudy haze that had invaded his mind. The words seemed to tumble ungracefully off of his tongue, dropping out of his mouth and into the empty shot glass that lay before him. The corners of Keith's mouth curved up ever so slightly. 

"Hey, look at that, Sharpshooter. Four down, one to go! Before you pass out during your fifth, I'll go ahead and catch up," the shorter boy raised his eyebrows arrogantly. Lance felt his blood boil. No way was he going to let Keith beat him! He would down his five shots and outlast his rival, no matter what Mister Formerly Emo Guy said. 

Keith poured two shots for himself and tipped them back expertly, a faint blush spreading across his face. The rosy glow accentuated his normally pale skin well, Lance decided, before snapping out of his daze. What was he thinking? He looked just as stupidly conceited as ever. 

"Alrigh', pour me my last one," Lance cheered. His voice sounded sluggish and slightly disoriented, even to himself. The other boy shot the two glasses a lopsided grin before filling them up once more. By now, the bottle was significantly less full than when the two had started, and Lance congratulated himself on his so-far successful drinking. 

"Three, two-" Keith was cut short as Lance finished the countdown.

"-one!" the taller boy gloated, and finished his last shot. He grinned triumphantly at Keith, who had just finished his shot as well. He set down his glass happily before turning to the other boy. 

"Han' over five," Lance crowed. 

Too easy.

~~~

"Dude, you're so wasted!" Keith's voice cracked ever so slightly as he all but lugged the lankier boy up a flight of stairs. The boy staggered as the two of them made their way down a carpeted hallway and knocked on one of the doors. Upon hearing no response, Keith deemed it same to enter. There was no way he'd let Lance get trashed and then go party it out with the other students- that would surely end in disaster.

He guided Lance over to the bed, sitting him down before he closed the door. It may send the wrong message if someone stumbled across the two of them in an empty bedroom. The shorter boy couldn't help but laugh at the state of his "rival"; his tan cheeks flushed, blue eyes swimming with drunken elation. Lance was currently tracing the outline of the five dollar bill slowly, running a slim finger around the green edge.

"I know!" Lance giggled. He looked up from the bill at Keith, his bright blue eyes watery and dilated. The dark lashes fluttered as he proudly presented his latest treasure to the dark-haired boy. "See, toldya I could hol' my liquor!" 

"And right you were," Keith said, and held back a chuckle at the tan boy's expression. Slower, downtempo music floated softly from downstairs, where the beat was beginning to mellow out. He ran his pale fingers through the tufts of inky hair that disrupted his vision. Lance watched his fingers intently as they worked their way from the mass of black locks. 

"I never took you for a partier, yaknow," Lance commented, nodding to himself. His caramel hair bobbed as his head moved, and Keith couldn't help but notice the way some pieces of hair were a slightly darker shade than others. "Come on, Keith! Siddown!" His slender hand patted a space next to him on the mattress, which Keith obliged and sank into. It was cushy, and Keith welcomed the soft feeling of the duvet against his palms. 

"You better not hurl on the bed," Keith said simply, and cringed inwardly at his lack of sympathy for the drunken boy sitting beside him. This didn't appear to faze Lance, however, who simply flashed him a toothy smile. 

"Don' worry. How're you so good at the whole shots thing anyway?" Lance slurred, peering inquisitively over at his companion.

"I work at a bar, remember?" Keith laughed. He seemed to be doing that a lot these past weeks; it was weird. "I kind of have to be good with alcohol."

"Ohhhh!" Lance said, his eyes widening with realization. "See, I don't do them a lot."

"Could've fooled me," Keith murmured, and Lance narrowed his eyes. 

"Are you being sarcastic?" the brunet asked suspiciously. Keith waved him off with a gloved hand, laughing.

"Who, me? Never," he replied innocently. 

Lance nodded his head, eyelids fluttering drowsily. "Thought not." He slumped backwards, laying down on the white duvet and curling his arms up above his head, exposing a thin sliver of skin between his shirt and pants. 

His shirt was indigo with white trim; it set off his tawny complexion, turning it a darker, richer shade than usual. Lance's azure eyes were half-lidded with exhaustion and alcohol, which caused his cheeks to retain the same faint blush that had tainted them for the last hour or so. A couple strands of hair were stuck to his forehead while the rest were swept to one side, exposing a small birthmark on the lean boy's right temple. 

Suddenly, Keith's companion righted himself again, corners of his mouth quirking up into what looked like what was supposed to be a sly grin. "Are you checking me out?"

"Don't flatter yourself," Keith muttered, rolling his eyes. Leave it to Lance to ruin what could have been an actually peaceful moment. 

"It's alrigh'. I know you're not really." Lance flopped down to his previous position and gazed up at the smooth ceiling with clouded eyes. He inhaled slowly, then exhaled in a shuddering sigh, closing his eyes. "Sometimes, I don' know if anybody actually likes me, you know? I try to be funny or smooth with people, but it never works, 'side from close friends. I mean, is it my looks? Is it my personality? Am I just too much?" 

He sighed, reopening his crystalline eyes. They were focused off to the side at a blank wall and had a melancholy, unfocused look to them. In that moment, Lance looked very un-Lancelike. Keith shifted uncomfortably, not sure what to say or do. He was never very good at comforting people. He resolved to lay on his side on the comforter as well and tapped Lance on the shoulder uncertainly. 

"Um, Lance?" The brunet turned his gaze to the raven laying down beside him, eyes glimmering softly. "If it makes any difference, I don't think other people find you to be 'too much'. You're pretty cool, and you make people laugh a lot." 

"Thanks, but I know you're jus' being nice. It's okay." Lance gazed at him for a moment before turning away again, giddy smile long gone. What was this side of him that Keith was seeing? Did the alcohol have such an effect on Lance that he let some sort of façade slip? Was this what was really going on under the surface?

Keith tapped the lean boy on the shoulder again. "Lance." No response. He sighed deeply, prodding at the other boy's lanky arm to no avail. "Lance, listen to me. I don't think you're annoying or ugly or any of that crap. Don't tell yourself that other people do, either. Nobody thinks of you like that. I'm not just saying this to be nice. We both know I'm not like that."

At this, Lance turned over to face Keith again. "You mean it?" he slurred quietly, still sounding slightly unconvinced. The paler boy nodded silently. Their eyes connected for a moment; a second of time that seemed to last forever. The air hung heavy and still, music slipping through from under the door. Keith's eyes examined Lance's brilliantly blue ones, drinking in the tiny flecks of gold that were interspersed throughout the azure irises, their faces only eight or so inches apart. He took note of the pointed nose, the arching brows, the curving of the boy's lips. The faint, sharp scent of vodka tingled Keith's nose.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Lance managed a small smile. It didn't reach his eyes or light up his whole face, as his smiles usually did, but rather turn the corners of his mouth upwards. 

Still, it was something. Drunk Lance was going to have to take some getting used to. "So you don't think I'm ugly?" 

"No, Lance." Keith huffed, gratefully reminding himself that the other boy would most likely not remember this moment the next morning. "I don't think you're ugly."

Lance's blue eyes flickered for a moment, an unnamed emotion showing through for the tiniest fraction of a second. "You know, Keith? You're not ugly either. Not even a little bit." 

"Thanks," Keith said uncertainly. Lance didn't avert his gaze, eyes still drilling holes into Keith's. They looked at each other for a long while, the tangy scent of alcohol filling the space between the two boys.  It was an odd remark- a compliment? Keith wasn't sure. Then Lance shifted, raised a slim hand, and brushed the dark tuft of hair that was hanging before Keith's eyes away. The raven stiffened, caught off guard by the feeling of Lance's cool touch against his forehead. 

"You have pretty eyes," Lance murmured, quiet voice breaking the silence. It was dulled by the alcohol, but not incoherent; not just drunken rambling. 

Suddenly, Keith was very much aware of every little detail surrounding him. The prickle of the duvet against his skin, the way Lance's shirt was gathered just above his midriff, exposing a slim line of tan skin around his waist. He took in the tiny creases beside Lance's eyes and the soft puff of the boy's breath, which smelled faintly of vodka. Why was he hyperfocusing all of the sudden? "Uh, you do too," Keith replied quietly. 

The corner of Lance's mouth quirked up a little and Keith felt the tips of his ears grow warm. Why the hell was he blushing? He was giving his clearly drunk friend a pep talk, that was all. So what if there were a couple compliments thrown in? Blushing was stupid.

"You're not a bad guy, Mullet." Dark lashes flitted as azure eyes slowly fluttered shut. "Not bad at all."

The music below took on a tune that Keith actually recognized, for the first time. Its simple, calming melody floated through his ears and carried itself around the bedroom. He remembered listening to it late at night, staring up at the night sky, drinking in the warm summer air. He looked down at Lance again, eyes shut, mouth resting in the faintest of smiles. He was already deep asleep, his lanky form curled up on the cushy duvet. 

_"I might not be the right one."_

_"It may not be the right time."_

Keith's gaze ran along the warm glow on the boy's cheeks, the limber arms, the broad shoulders. 

_"But there's something about us I've got to do."_

_"Some kind of secret I will share with you."_

He chuckled, noting the way Lance was firmly grasping the five dollar bill in his hand. No way anyone could pry that out of his grasp- that was his well-earned reward.

_"I want you more than anything in my life."_

_"I need you more than anything in my life."_

The Cuban boy shifted the tiniest bit, his hair falling gracefully across his forehead, pointed nose curving towards the flat ceiling. He murmured something nonsensical, lips moving slowly to form the syllables. His voice faded out once again, though the smile still lingered placidly on his lips.

_"I'll miss you more than anyone in my life."_

_"I love you more than anyone in my life."_

And for the first time in as long as Keith could remember, his heart fluttered in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey hey! You survived chapter three (which, might I add, is much more punctual than chapter 2 was). I'm still kinda winging it, but thanks for sticking through it thus far. Thanks for all the support- much love to you guys!


	4. Team Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late, I've been so swamped with work lately it's insane.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god." Lance's face was currently shoved into the middle of his pillow in a feeble attempt to wipe any and all memories of last night from his brain. He groaned as he sat up, pressing a fair hand to his throbbing temple. So far, nada.

After he'd gotten over the initial hangover from the five shots of tequila and Pidge's gloating cries of "You are a lightweight!", Lance's brain had helpfully conjured up every mortifying detail of last night's events for him to watch on repeat.

He'd just had to accept that challenge from Keith. Of course. Which had ended up biting Lance in the ass in the form of telling Keith one of his biggest insecurities as he was laying wasted on some college alumni's bed and later informing the shorter boy that he "wasn't ugly", "had pretty eyes", and "wasn't a bad guy".

Turns out, drunk Lance is a lot more open with both himself and others than sober Lance is. It also coincidentally turns out that drunk Lance had been quite introspective that night and unearthed a little opinion that sober Lance had been hiding from himself for the past few weeks: he thought Keith was pretty.

Which was, of course, complete and utter bullshit. That was just the vodka talking- or so Lance desperately hoped. Truthfully, Mullet was a good looking guy. Sharp, strikingly violet eyes, dark lashes, unblemished skin, well built; Keith was just a handsome guy. But Lance couldn't think like that about his rival- could he? No way, he reminded himself. Especially since Keith most likely didn't think the same way about Lance.

Nonetheless, every time he closed his eyes, Lance was bombarded with images of brilliantly violet pupils gazing at him softly from beside him. A faint rosy blush tainting pale cheeks and the murmuring of a quiet "You do too." Ugh. Lance returned his face to his feathery hiding place, feeling his face grow warm.

Why the hell was he thinking this way? Sure, he acknowledged that Keith could be objectively handsome, but he found himself thinking that about twenty people a day! Why was the thought of Keith, his fucking rival of all people, making him blush? Was it just the hangover? No; hangovers don't make your face start to flush at the thought of- well, Keith!

This was so dumb. And of course Keith had to be actually nice to him for once, comforting him as he practically wept on a white duvet. Stupid Keith. Stupid, dumb Keith. Stupid, dumb, pretty Keith. Wait, no.

"Arrgh!" Lance growled into his pillow, holding it tightly to his mouth so as to stifle his cries of agony.

Obviously, the pillow did a shoddy job, for less than half a minute later Hunk appeared in the bedroom doorway. "You okay there, man?"

Lance considered lying, saying that he just had a killer headache, but decided against it. This was Hunk; he always knew when something was up with Lance. And something was definitely up with Lance. Maybe he could help Lance sort this out. Then they'd forget about it, eat hangover food, and be on their merry way.

"So before I start: this is all purely hypothetical," Lance began, removing the pillow from his face slowly. Hunk raised a questioning eyebrow, but nodded and said nothing. "So say you're super competitive with someone. Like, almost rivals."

"I bet I can guess who this is gonna be about," Hunk sighed exasperatedly. Lance glared at him before continuing.

"Anyways, so you and this guy are practically arch-rivals. Or something. And you two are at the same party, and you meet in the punch line," he continued. Still no way in hell was he telling anybody about how he and Mullet Boy practically dry-humped each other. "And you lead him back to your friends, who chat with him for a few minutes but then all eventually wander off. So you two decide to get a couple of shot glasses and a bottle of vodka."

"Is this the story of how you got absolutely annihilated last night?" Hunk's gaze was level but amused.

"Huh? No. Hypothetical. So your rival makes a bet with you that you can't drink five shots of vodka, right? And you obviously tell him that's bullshit, because it so was," Lance babbled. At this point, there was no good reason to stop recounting the story. "So you guys play a couple rounds of Never Have I Ever and said rival finds out that you're also into dudes- which for some reason he didn't figure out already- via Indiana Jones-"

"Hold up, what?"

"Long story. So he says something about how you'll be passed out soon and you decide to just go all out and finish off your five shots, since you have three left. You take two, then he takes two, and you guys take your last one together and at this point you realize that yeah, maybe you're not as accustomed to shots as you'd previously thought. So he takes you up to an empty bedroom- don't look at me like that!"

Hunk had a very red, very scandalized look plastered across his face. He seemed to be trying to decide whether to laugh, cry, or scream in disgust.

"It wasn't like that! Hypothetically! Anyways, you kind of flop down on the bed and catch him maybe possibly looking at you but you're like ninety-five percent sure he's not. And you ask him jokingly if he's checking you out and he says something like 'don't flatter yourself' and for some reason you get really out of it and you're hit by this random depressive episode and start venting to him out of the blue. At first, said guy seems super thrown by it because you admit that maybe people think you're overbearing or ugly or something stupid, I don't know-"

"Which, hypothetically speaking, you're not," Hunk gently reminded him, gazing at Lance kindly with warm brown eyes.

"Thanks, hypothetically. And he tells you that you're not ugly- that you're cool and funny and even though you don't really believe that he's sincere at first, he assures you that he is. All the sudden you get hit with this crazy head rush where suddenly you realize that hey, maybe this rival of yours really isn't a terrible guy and just maybe he's kind of cute- wipe that smug look off your face!" Lance barked, chucking his pillow at Hunk's wide-eyed stare. He had a knowing expression growing on his features, which didn't help Lance's current situation all that much.

"So you tell said rival that you don't think he's ugly at all either, and then go on to tell him that he has pretty eyes- which maybe he does, who knows? And he says thanks and you do too and you just sit there looking at each other for a minute. You don't think that either of you really know what's going on so you just tell him that he's not a bad guy, and then you just pass out?" Lance finished, out of breath. Hunk simply stood there, arms crossed and a small smile playing on his lips.

"Well," Hunk said slowly, "I'm getting the idea that maybe this isn't all that hypothetical."

Lance groaned. "Pillow, please?"

Hunk obliged and handed the lankier boy back the pillow (which had previously been thrown at him with as much force as a somewhat hungover college student could muster). Lance gratefully took the pillow from him, inhaled deeply, plunged his face into it, and proceeded to screech into it for a solid thirty seconds.

"Much better," he said simply, trying not to laugh at the incredulous expression on his friend's face. "And no, this may not be purely hypothetical. I'm the guy it's happening to."

"Got it. If I didn't know better, I'd have to say you may or may not have just figured out that you like Keith," Hunk said, and winced at Lance's terrified expression.

"I don't like Keith! I can't like Keith! I just think he's cute, and can be nice, and if I want to maybe feel his hair between my fingers or hold his hand or kiss him then-" Lance clapped a slender hand over his mouth, blue eyes the size of small dinner plates.

"Yes, that sounds very platonic of you, Lance," Hunk snorted, rolling his eyes halfheartedly. "I think you just exposed yourself. How fitting."

"Shut up. What am I going to do? I can't like my rival! That's a big no-no!" Lance wailed. He pinched the bridge of his pointed nose and closed his eyes dramatically. When he was through with that, the Cuban resorted to wringing his hands and grabbing the pillow for another healthy screeching session. "I actually got butterflies last night! Butterflies, Hunk!"

"A common occurrence when you like someone," Hunk offered. Lance shot him a dark glare, which was countered with an innocent smile. "Anyways, keeping it from Pidge is out of the question."

Lance blanched, his eyes growing even wider than before. "Tell Pidge? She'll just come up with a scheme to set us up!" 

"Exactly why we need her, dude." Hunk was already busy tapping out an urgent message for Pidge to get over ASAP via text message. His focus returned to the tan boy who looked like he was on the verge of imploding on the spot. "I don't think I've ever seen you afraid of having a crush. This is a first."

"Because it's _Keith_! He's not just anyone! He's different!" Lance frantically ran a hand through his mess of tousled caramel locks.

"I'll be back in a few," Hunk said, his large frame moving out of the room with a smile. "I've got to run and pick up Pidge. Just relax. I'm sure your children will be gorgeous-" He was cut off by another projectile pillow soaring through the air and catching him in the chest. "Alright, alright. Jeez. Be back soon!"

When his friend was out the door and the cacophony of the Bananamobile's engine resurrecting from the dead could be heard up and down the street, Lance flopped back on his bed.

Stupid, dumb, handsome, funny Keith. Stupid Keith with his sympathetic gaze and his soft but brilliant gaze and leather gloves and irritatingly charming mullet and- ugh. Lance huffed loudly, cursing himself for having to like the one asshole in the entire college that he had a self-proclaimed rivalry with.

Unfortunately, it seemed like his thoughts refused to go ignored. As he lay on his bed, pillow covering his face, a fair jaw and quiet smile seemed to be tattooed on the backs of his eyelids.

~~~

Oddly enough, the alcohol from the night had been kind (or cruel) enough to leave all memories of the previous night's events in Keith's mind. They definitely won first place for oddest grouping of events to happen in the space of two hours under the influence of questionable punch and vodka shots.

And yeah, he remembered every messy little detail. The mortification of being Lance's little dancing partner had definitely returned with a vengeance the morning after, followed by amusement at Lance's drunken fixation with the five dollar bill. That didn't last long, unfortunately, as Keith's mind ever so helpfully reminded him of the conversation the two of them had later.

Well, if you could call it a conversation rather than a pep talk that preceded an array of rambling compliments. Plus some extremely awkward gazing. And a really, really weird feeling in the pit of Keith's stomach. That had seemed to return along with the uncomfortably vivid details of the party and its events. 

Keith sat on the edge of his bed, chin resting on his palm as he moodily bore a hole into the wall of his room. His stomach didn't seem to be willing to quit performing loop-the-loops anytime soon and it was getting very frustrating. To make matters worse, his ears betrayed him as well, their telltale warmth and inevitable redness grating on what little patience Keith possessed.

Of course, his brain had to go against his wishes as well, his thoughts wandering back to what happened at the end of the night. It really wasn't a horrible experience; Lance had revealed (probably on accident) that no, he didn't actually dislike Keith, which was a relief. It was one thing to be "rivals" with someone, and another thing to actually hate them. Not horrible, just mortifying.

The dusky haze of twilight was beginning to settle in the horizon, the darkening sky tainted with patches of purple and soft pink. Wispy clouds floated silently against the evening backdrop and Keith sat for a moment, staring out the window and watching them go by.

His phone vibrated in in his hand, tugging him out of his reverie. Keith looked down at the screen, surprised. He often didn't get texts from anyone but Shiro; this one was from one of his newer contacts.

*Hunk*

_Hey dude, you busy?_

*Keith*

_Nah, when am I ever?_

*Hunk*

_True, true._

_Meet you outside your dorm in half an hour._

*Keith*

_What for?_

*Hunk*

_You'll see soon enough, my friend._

Keith shrugged and set down his phone. Hunk probably had made a new dish and was having everyone taste test it again (it had happened multiple times thus far, and each meal was even better than the last).

He sat idly, drumming his fingers on his leg. If there was one thing Keith despised, it was sitting around and waiting. To combat imminent boredom, he busied himself with cleaning up his chronically messy bathroom.

Though he'd only been living in the dorm for a matter of weeks, his bathroom had somewhat begun to resemble a disaster zone sometime within the first four days. Different soaps and variously colored bottles littered the counter. Shampoo and conditioner bottles lay scattered around the rim of the shower and floor beside it. The mirror was dotted with marks leftover from condensation and empty toothpaste tubes decorated the inside of a small trash can alongside decimated toothbrushes (Keith brushed his teeth very forcefully- it was more shoving the brush around than actual "brushing"). 

Twenty minutes later, he straightened up, looking proudly at his handiwork. Granted, it wasn't HGTV worthy by any stretch of the imagination, but the mirror was clean and the counter was distinctly less cluttered. It was good enough for the time being and he could probably get away with not cleaning it for another week or so. 

In his back pocket, his phone hummed with the notification of a new text.

*Hunk*

_Ten minutes early, you good to go?_

*Keith*

_Yeah, give me a minute._

He pulled on his jacket, tugging on the cuffs of the sleeves. With his shoes already on his feet (he didn't often take them off), he made his way out of the dorm building and out to the front, where the telltale Bananamobile was waiting. A small arm waved at him from the passenger's side. Looked like Pidge had claimed shotgun again, to nobody's surprise. That girl was an absolute menace to battle for the front seat with, and Keith spoke from experience. 

"Hey Keith!" she chirped as Keith closed the van's door behind him, sliding in next to Lance. "Ready to get your ass beat at laser tag?"

Unfortunately for his smaller companion, Keith considered himself to be thoroughly experienced at laser tag. He scoffed. "Are you sure that I'll be the one getting beat? I wouldn't count on it."

"Sure, sure." Lance waved him off airily from the seat beside him. "Just you wait. I'll be wiping the floor with you three minutes into round one, Kogane."

"In your dreams." Keith fixed Lance with narrowed eyes. So he thought he could beat Keith at laser tag, huh? This guy had another thing coming.

"Can we please save the death glares for when we're actually playing?" Hunk sighed from his usual seat behind the wheel. The amusement glittering in his eyes betrayed him, however.

"C'mon, Hunk! A little trash talking never hurt anyone! Think of it as constructive competition!" Lance winked at the driver, who rolled his eyes.

"So, Keith, ever been to this place before?" Pidge flashed her phone screen at him, a website pulled up on the screen. The banner at the top of the screen read Caste of Lions and sat above a picture of a large laser tag arena. He shook his head. "You'll love it! Trust me dude."

"Yeah man! If you're going to get your ass handed to you, this is the place to have it done," Lance prodded.

"I'm guessing you know that from experience?" Keith countered, relishing the way the smirk dropped from the other's face.

Not much later, the Bananamobile and its passengers arrived outside a large building with a sizeable logo boasting the name of the arena. Keith was met with a cool gust of filtered air as they pushed their way through the large set of doors and into the building. The interior of the building was possibly the polar opposite of the exterior.

The main area was basically one giant room, with a door to the arena in the back. Flashing strobe lights illuminated the floor and arcade games were haphazardly scattered about. To the right sat a cheery employee behind a counter where one could trade tickets for cheaply made prizes and buy passes for the arena. Loud, high-tempo music blared from speakers held aloft on the walls. There was an area to eat as well, accompanying an expansive soda bar. The air smelled distinctly like salty food and something sweet.

"Let's go buy some passes!" Lance shouted jubilantly above the pounding music. He grabbed Hunk's hand and tugged it in the direction of the counter. 

"This is like, one of his top favorite places to go," Pidge commented offhandedly to Keith. "He can never get enough of it."

"It suits him," Keith replied. He scanned the room again, with its flashing lights and loud music and various arcade games. "Definitely suits him."

"You know-" Pidge was cut off by a louder voice coming from a few feet in front of them.

"How many rounds?" Lance crowed. She held up two fingers and he nodded, turning back to the employee. He and Hunk returned to the other two group members, happily brandishing enough passes for two rounds each.

"Hey, how much were those? I can pay you back," Keith inquired, but was silenced by Hunk's dismissive wave.

"Don't worry about it, dude. These passes are dirt cheap- it's how we broke college students can afford them. It's not a big deal."

"Are you sure?" he replied hesitantly. It always made him uncomfortable when others paid for him, regardless of how expensive the activity was. Hunk nodded determinedly and he sighed.

A loud voice cut into the music through the speakers. "Anyone holding a Gold Pass, please make your way to the back," it echoed, its voice scratchy.

"That's us." Pidge wove through the people standing between her and the door in the back with ease. The others had a little more trouble- it seemed that her shorter size had its advantages every once in a while. When the three of them reached her again, she was tapping her foot impatiently on the colorful carpeting. "What took you guys so long?"

"Not all of us are three foot seven, Pidge," Lance joked, resulting in a sharp stomp on his foot. " _Ouch_ , fuck!"

Hunk handed each member of the party a golden pass as a bored-looking employee opened the door to the next room. His face seemed to be plastered into an expression about as blankly unassuming as his demeanor. 

The space was considerably smaller than the last one they were in; it was about the size of the average bedroom. It was dark, with glowing paint decorating the walls in the form of swirling nebulas and multicolored planets. A black light hung from the ceiling panels, casting a faint purple iridescence onto anything of pale hue. 

The employee crossed his arms and slumped against the wall before addressing the group of around ten people. "Before you enter the arena, let's go over some ground rules and instructions on how to play," he droned. His voice was possibly the most monotonous sound Keith had ever heard, and it more than matched his appearance. "First, no running, jumping, physical contact..." 

"Damn, I guess we won't be screwing on the floor of a laser tag arena after all," Lance drawled from beside Keith, who jumped at the sudden voice in his ear.

"Shut up, Lance," he muttered, hoping it was too dark for the taller boy to notice his embarrassed flush. Pidge poked him in the ribs, prompting him to turn and face her knowing smirk. Blush or not, it seemed someone had noticed his mortification after all.

"...got it?" The employee seemed to be done with his speech and was moving on to gameplay. "You'll be playing in teams of two, and each team will be facing the others. The vests along the wall behind me are color coded so you and your teammate will have matching vests. Shots here, here, and here are worth twenty points each, and shots here and here are worth fifty." He gestured to various places on his own vest, which was coded with a pale gray.

"You're with me this round." Hunk turned to Keith, who narrowed his eyes resolutely and followed him to the wall of vests. "Which color?"

"We call green!" Pidge shouted victoriously, grabbing two green coded vests off of the wall and handing one to Lance, who stood behind her.

"What do you say to red?" Keith suggested, pointing to the two red vests in front of him and his teammate, who shrugged and nodded in agreement. He slipped the vest over his head and clipped its sides together, unfastening his blaster from the hook it was attached to.

Pidge seemed to be almost completely engulfed by the vest, and obviously seemed none too happy about it. On the flip side, Hunk was fighting a battle with his clips and finally managed to join them together after a minute or two of struggling.

Lance seemed to be holding his blaster as if it were the most precious thing in the world, cradling it gently in his arms. Upon noticing Keith's deadpan stare, he straightened and brandished it at him challengingly. "Ready to lose, Mullet?"

"Let's see if you really deserve your nickname, Sharpshooter," Keith countered, the corners of his mouth curling into a smirk.

"Oh, you will," Lance promised, prodding the raven's chest lightly with the tip of his blaster before slipping through the doorway into the dark arena that lay in the next room.

"Try not to make out in the middle of the round, will you?" Pidge commented dryly, moving into the arena before Keith could protest. He turned to Hunk for support, but was met only with a sly grin. He huffed and moved through the doorway as well, following the larger boy into the darkness.

The ceiling of the arena was the first thing that caught Keith's attention. It was painted with glowing planets and star systems, the bright colors making their way down the walls of the huge arena. Ramps to either side of him led up to higher levels, and before him lay a labyrinthine network of random walls and hallways. Like the room they had just left, black lights shone down onto the floor below, acting as the only visible light source for the players.

"This way." Hunk gestured hurriedly for the shorter boy to follow before leading him up the ramp to their left, their shoes making faint sounds against the metal. Situated on the elevated area was a second network of passages and walls, all decorated with the same glowing paint as the walls and high ceiling.

"Players get ready!" A woman's automated voice echoed around the dark arena, and Keith gripped his blaster tightly. "Three! Two! One! Begin!"

Keith looked around for a split second and noticed his teammate disappearing into the maze before them. Weighing his options, he opted to make his way back down the ramp to the lower level, keeping a watchful eye out for any competitors. Halfway down the ramp, a shape darted across the floor below, pausing for a moment behind a stray wall. In one swift motion, he brought his blaster up and around, pulling the plastic trigger to catch the figure in the back of their vest. As the laser hit his target's vest, his gun pinged softly.

He let out a soft "Hah!" at his victory. Just as it left his lips however, a fizzling sound emanated from his vest. He looked down at his chest, confused, and noted the lack of blinking lights that had previously adorned it. As Keith looked up he could have sworn he'd spotted the smallest flash of blue rounding a corner.

Forget going downstairs. If that was who he suspected, there was no way in hell that he'd let that gun wielding asshat get away without retribution. Keith took off in the direction he'd seen the blue fabric and it wasn't long before he heard voices echoing above the music playing.

"Wow, Pidge, you're actually not totally horrible at th- ouch! What the fuck, man?" Evidently Lance had made the mistake of insulting their smaller friend again and had paid the bitter price.

Keith crept quietly through the labyrinth and stopped short at the sight of Lance leaning over a railing, most likely aiming at another unsuspecting victim. A moment later, a tiny noise floated through the air and the taller boy straightened up once more. "Got 'em!" He cheered.

Time for Keith to get his shot in and book it. Edging around as much as he dared, he steadied his blaster and aimed it at Lance's back, checking quickly to make sure nobody had spotted him. Two trigger squeezes later, Pidge and Lance were both out of commission. Just enough time for the raven to make his swift getaway. Served the tall idiot right for shooting him ten seconds into the round.

This time around, he made it down the metal ramp without interruption, footsteps thrumming off of the cold steel. Keith tentatively moved into the center, where he had spied more than a few players from up above. When he was confident enough that nobody would shoot him, he quickened his pace- and nearly ran smack into a girl turning the same corner he was. Stunned for a second but quickly snapping out of it, Keith pointed his blaster at her lower abdomen and pulled the trigger. He was rewarded with another sound from his gun and a loud groan from the girl as he continued on past her.

Not twenty seconds later, he caught a flash of movement close by. Didn't people know better than to wear white to laser tag? There were always black lights at laser tag. Amateur. Just as he was raising his gun to claim another set of points, his vest and the lights on it fizzled out again. This time, Keith didn't even have to look around. The telltale snicker coming from above was more than enough. He growled in annoyance but resolved to keep moving.

At the end of the round, Keith was just about ready to whack Lance with his blaster. The asshole had barely let him recover from each shot before nailing him with a follow-up, and it was getting to be _really fucking annoying_. He quickly checked his vest to see what number he was on team Red and shuffled out with the rest of the players to look at the leaderboards. He scanned the screen for a red 2, eyes landing on it after a few seconds of searching.

"What the hell? Sixth out of ten?" Pidge's indignant cry reached his ears and he turned to see her gesturing angrily at the screen. "I hit way more than twelve people!"

"You'll do better next round," Hunk assured her, though he didn't look very excited about his ranking either. "I'm fifth, and that's not a whole lot to be proud of."

Keith huffed in annoyance. He'd gotten second place to player 2 on team Green. But if Pidge placed sixth, that means it had to be-

"Woohoo! First place!" Lance crowed from behind him, having spotted himself in the first place slot. Keith rolled his eyes and waited for the inevitable gloating. The taller boy moved up next to Keith, grinning triumphantly. "So, what's it like being in second place? I wouldn't know."

"You will soon enough," he muttered in response. Of course Lance would come in first. It was pretty likely that over half of the times Keith had been hit, the brunet had been the culprit. Lance said nothing, though he smirked and brushed his caramel locks back with a slender hand. 

After fifteen minutes of watching Pidge nearly suffer from heart failure via an arcade game that was really pissing her off, the group made their way to the back again. This time, anyone holding a Bronze Pass would be able to play, and the group seemed a little larger than before.

If the first lecture of rules the employee gave was boring, this one was damn close to unbearable. If anything, his voice was even more emotionless than the first time around. Maybe Keith would be a good person and buy him a pack of energy drink for his birthday or something.

After his speech had concluded and everyone in the room looked properly bored to death, it was time to pick teammates again. Keith fervently hoped to get with Pidge this time, since Hunk would most likely calm Lance down with the whole "peg Keith with a laser every 2.5 seconds" thing. Pidge would probably just rile him up again and the second round would more or less run the course of the first.

Of course, no such luck. As soon as the lecture finished, Keith noticed Hunk flash a sly smile at Lance, who acknowledged it with a freezing glare. What was that about? Hunk then slung a broad arm around Pidge's smaller frame and loudly announced that they would be partners this round. The smaller girl ginned evilly at Lance as if the two of them were in on some little inside joke. 

Lance sighed deeply and turned to face Keith, who felt about as excited as the taller boy looked. "Seems like I won't get that golden opportunity to kick your ass again after all."

"Fine. Want to see who's better this round? Whoever gets more points this time around has to perform a dare," Keith boldly countered. He was not going to let Lance one-up him in laser tag, especially after the amount of celebration he had to endure after the first round. 

"Sure thing. Easy peasy," Lance jeered, eyes glinting with amusement. "Any other demands to place? It'll make my victory so much sweeter."

"Oh yeah, one more request," Keith added coolly, prompting Lance to lean in a little further in interest. He ran the fingers of his left hand over the cool leather that adorned his right, tracing the creases in the material absentmindedly. "Pidge dishes out the dare."

At this, Pidge's mildly intrigued expression turned to one of calculating excitement. "I like that idea," she said, seemingly already enveloped in the range of cruel punishments she could inflict on the loser.

"You sure about that one, Mullet?" Lance inquired, arms crossed. His almost manicured-looking eyebrows were arched in disbelief. "Kinda seems like you're digging your own grave, here."

"What, are you backing out now?" Keith met his skeptical gaze with one of determination. There was no way in hell that Lance would win their little competition, especially with these raised stakes. 

"Hell no! What color team are we?" Lance sauntered over to the wall of vests, fingers moving lightly along the fronts of the vests that coated the face of the wall. "How about blue?"

"In the spirit of maturity, we can go with blue this time," Keith conceded, leaning against the wall next to the vests. "Even though red is better."

Lance rolled his eye exaggeratedly. "Leave it to you to like the inferior color. I'm not surprised."

"You're both off- it's all about yellow," Hunk interjected. For good measure, he held up his yellow coded vest and gestured for Pidge to do the same, who halfheartedly complied. 

"I still think green is better," she grumbled, crossing her arms. Hunk patted her on the shoulder empathetically. 

Hunk suddenly perked up and turned to his smaller teammate again. "Dude! We need a team name!"

"Damn, you're right. If were going to kick their asses, we have to have a badass name," she responded thoughtfully. After a minute of consideration, she nodded. "Hidge or Punk?"

"Punk for sure," Hunk responded confidently. "Team Punk goes for the gold!" 

The yellow vest clad team then high-fived and turned to Keith and Lance. The latter turned to his inky-haired teammate expectantly. "If they have a team name, we have to too. We gotta be the alpha team and no way are we being the alpha team without a sick name."

Keith rolled his eyes, but allowed his mouth to twitch up in amusement. Leave it to Lance to insist on a team name (though he'd never admit it, the taller boy tended to make activities more entertaining with his ridiculous ideas). "Alright, what's it going to be?"

"I think Klance is pretty solid," Lance replied, tapping his foot absentmindedly. "Thoughts?"

"I mean, aside from the fact that it's just your name with the letter 'K' tacked on in front, it's the best I can think of," he conceded, mouth twisting wryly.

"Alright!" Lance cheered. "Team Klance is going to kick your asses!" 

He mimed shooting Pidge with his blaster, who then proceeded to take hers out as well and return fire. The employee, whose typically apathetic expression had been replaced with a slight scowl, opened the door to the arena and began to usher people in. 

Keith felt a slender hand weave its fingers into his own as Lance led him into the arena, sending an odd tingly feeling racing up and down his spine. The brunet led him up the ramp to the right of the doorway, pausing once to smile at him excitedly. The tingly feeling returned, stronger than before, and Keith silently cursed his ears for growing warm. What was up with him today?

"I have the perfect spot, trust me." Lance moved expertly through the labyrinth of glowing walls and odd fixtures, moving with a confidence that Hunk hadn't posessed the previous round. It seemes he was more than a little knowledgeable when it came to the layout of the arena- probably the result of dozens of rounds played. "Barely anybody knows about it. I found it after my fifth round and you can see almost the entire arena."

"How often do you come here?" Keith's interest in his teammate's fixation with laser tag won out over dry amusement.

Lance ducked through another few openings here and there, keeping their fingers interwoven. In the back of his mind, Keith wondered it it was entirely necessary to hold hands while being guided around a maze of walls, but for some strange reason felt no temptation to pull his hand away. 

"Probably about once or twice a week. it sounds kind of weird to say it, but it helps me to zone out, I guess? Hunk and Pidge don't always join me, though." The taller boy's pace had slowed down a little; they were probably nearing his vantage point. "I mean, you're always welcome to come with- if you want to, of course, no pressure-"

"I'd like to do that sometime," Keith interrupted softly, mouth working before his brain had enough time to fully process the offer. Lance turned around, a faint look of surprise mixed with something else etched into his face. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled. Not a cheeky grin or victorious smirk, but one that made dimples appear in his tanned cheeks and his cerulean eyes light up with something Keith couldn't quite place. He cursed the way his heart jumped in his chest, thudding as if he'd just run a mile. 

"Sounds like a plan, Kogane." Lance closed his mouth and then opened it again as if he were going to say something else. He seemed to decide against it however, shaking his head every so faintly and turning to continue on their path, sending purple light dancing along his darkened caramel hair. "We're almost there."

"Players get ready!" The automated voice signaling the beginning of the round prompted Lance to move a little quicker, his fingers' position between Keith's unchanging. "Three! Two! One!"

The taller boy ducked under an arch and wove around a stray wall, finally reaching an area that Keith presumed was his vantage point. It seemed to be a hidden bit between two wall panels overlooking the entire jigsaw puzzle that lay below. He noticed a few darkened figures moving throughout the floor, the occasional red beam of light sending other players scampering away. Unfortunately, the hidden area wasn't exactly very spacious; the two boys stood shoulder to shoulder, leaning over the railing.

"Ready to lose, Mullet?" Lance's voice in his ear sent Keith's pulse through the roof again- probably just anticipation. The thought of having to complete a dare set by Pidge was enough to make any sane person's heart rate skyrocket.

"In your dreams, McClain." Keith scanned the floor below for a moment, before spotting a small shape darting between two walls below. Was that Pidge? He aimed his blaster at her vest and squeezed the trigger twice before his gun pinged to life. 

Next to him, Lance's gun pinged twice. How had he managed to find and shoot people that quickly? "You're going to regret upping those stakes," he smirked. His gun pinged again in assent, and Keith narrowed his eyes, swiftly examining the floor below. 

Two minutes later, Keith had succeeded in pegging seven more people with his laser, spurred on by the looming threat of a dare. Beside him, Lance had somehow managed to shoot around fifteen players (Keith had stopped counting when he hit eleven). His teammate seemed completely in his element, firing his laser without blinking and hitting his target on his first shot every time. Twice he'd hit two people within the span of five seconds, to Keith's grudging amazement.

Over the course of the round, Keith had missed more than a couple of doable shots. In all honesty, he was distracted by something that he couldn't initially identify. Unfortunately, his brain had offered the suggestion that it may have something to do with the faint smell of coconut and quiet intakes of breath signaling when his competitor was about to take a shot. Something about the way that his usually vivacious classmate remained calm and focused even as blinding lights obscured his vision intrigued Keith, who would curse every so often as he got hit by a laser. 

At the end of the round, Keith had lost track of how many pings had gone off from his gun, though he knew the number was much higher than it was the previous round. Most likely because his vest wasn't rendered inert every five seconds and he actually had a chance to shoot at people rather than dodge incoming lasers from above. He blamed his still less-than-impressive round on the embodiment of a Bath and Body Works store pressed up against his shoulder. 

The automated voice announced the cessation of the round some minutes later. Next to Keith, his teammate nodded, evidently satisfied with how the round had gone. He brought his blaster down from where he had it raised at his chest level and turned to the shorter boy beside him. "Good round, Mullet." His voice didn't sound mocking or jeering (though it could have- he was admittedly far superior in this competition); rather good-naturedly amused. He stuck a tan hand out and it was met with one clad with leather as they shook hands. 

"We should probably head down before Pidge and Hunk start wondering where we are," Keith commented, gesturing for Lance to lead the way out. Lance nodded in agreement before ducking out of their vantage point and into the maze. He began to weave in between the wall fixtures before hesitating and reaching out to lace his fingers between Keith's paler ones without looking at him. 

Keith's ears began to heat up again, though his traitorous mind was beginning to suspect that it might be a good idea to keep his hand where it was. This was purely so that they would both make it out in the most efficient way possible, after all. The flashing strobe lights and cheesy music only aided his quickened heart rate, to his annoyance. 

As soon as they had successfully made it to the door leading to the room with the vests, the two teammates quickly unlaced their fingers from each other. Keith felt the weight of the vest lift off of his chest as he hoisted it up and over his head, placing it next to Lance's on the wall. 

" _Adios_ , Blue." Lance patted his vest one last time and grinned before gesturing to its place on the wall. "This is my lucky vest. Blue, meet Keith. Keith, meet Blue."

"You talk to a vest?" Keith looked at Lance quizzically before allowing a half-smile to creep up his lips. 

"Yes. Sorry, Blue is saying something." Lance mimed pressing his ear to the chestplate of the vest before straightening up again and looking at Keith solemnly. "Blue says 'fuck you'."

"I'm hurt." Keith laughed and patted Blue on the left shoulder. "I'm sorry, Blue."

Lance's eyebrows shot up so high Keith feared they would take flight off of his forehead for a second. "Did Keith Kogane just make a joke? In my presence?"

"Shut up," the shorter boy grumbled. "I'm starting to like Blue better out of the two of you."

Once outside, Keith said a quick prayer and shut his eyes before checking the leaderboard for his score. Anything but a dare from Pidge. He was beginning to regret his challenge, though he clung desperately to the hope that somehow he'd managed to beat out Lance for first place. Granted, this was a bit of a stretch given that Keith had missed at least a solid three shots because Lance just _had_ to wear stupid coconut cologne.

It seemed "luck" just was not in today's vocabulary. Keith sighed deeply and waited for a second bout of gloating as his violet eyes bored into the screen before them. Second place. To Lance. Again. Which now meant along with his wounded pride, he was also going to have to give up some of his dignity performing some cruel dare Pidge had dreamt up. And all because the stupid laser tag addict beside him had managed to push all the right buttons again.

Out of the corner of his eye Keith noticed Lance look over at him. "Well," he began lightly, "I have one thing to say to you."

Keith inhaled deeply, mentally preparing himself for a second self-congratulatory celebration. If Lance bragged about his laser tag skills one more time he might have to resort to whacking him with his blaster. His eyes were blue after all, and everyone knew that blue and purple complimented each other-

Lance grabbed his shoulders sharply and spun him around so there were face to face, eyes glimmering with excitement. "Team Klance for the win!" He pumped his right fist into the air, then jabbed his index finger at the leaderboard on the screen. "We got first and second place out of twenty people! That's never happened to me and a teammate before!"

"That's pretty cool," Keith admitted, mouth curving into the beginnings of a grin. At least Lance wasn't being an asshole this time around; he was smiling a goofy grin that caused the corners of his bright blue eyes to crease. Keith flashed his jubilant teammate his best attempt at a winning smile and fervently hoped it didn't look too pained. "Maybe I'm just your lucky charm."

"Hell yeah you are! You and Blue make the ultimate team. Hold on, I gotta get a picture of this." Lance pulled his phone out of his back pocket and snapped a picture of the leaderboard before opening the Contacts app and handing his phone to Keith, who took it gingerly. He looked at Lance inquiringly before the brunet sighed amusedly and tapped the plus sign in the corner of the screen.

"Put your phone number in, smart guy. I can't invite you to places like this if I can't contact you- wait. Do you have a phone? Do you communicate via carrier pigeon?" Lance feigned a shocked gasp. "Do you have a Nokia?"

"No, I don't have a fucking Nokia- here, look." Keith sighed exasperatedly and held up his own phone in response. Lance snickered good-naturedly and motioned for him to put his phone number in.

After inputting the necessary information, he checked that he'd typed everything out correctly. When he was satisfied, he gave a small nod of approval and handed the phone back to Lance, who frowned down at the screen.

"Really? 'Keith'? That's it?" He asked, seemingly bewildered. 

"What's the problem with it?" Keith demanded. "It's my name, so why should my contact be anything else?"

"I don't know." Lance shrugged simply. "Pidge put hers in as 'Edgelord Supreme' and Hunk refused for his to be anything but 'Gordon Ramsey'. I just expected something equally bizarre since most people take full advantage of being able to put their own contact into someone's phone."

"Give me a second." Keith relieved the phone from his teammate's care once again and stared at the screen for a moment, pondering the possible range of options. After deciding on his best option, he grinned at the screen, pleased with his choice, and handed the phone back to Lance a second time.

"'Space Ranger Partner'," he read aloud. "I like it. Is it cool with you if I add you into a group chat with Pidge, Hunk, and I?"

Keith nodded his assent a moment before a deadpan voice broke in. "If you two are done flirting with each other yet, then I think it's time I hand out my punishment."

"We're not flirting!" Lance protested, shoving his phone into his back pocket and marching closer to Pidge so he was towering over her. She stood her ground, unflinching under the brunet's death stare.

"Fuck off, Pidge," Keith muttered. He fixed her with an icy glare that would probably be put to good use battling global warming, but she only smiled innocently up at him, doing nothing to quell the heat of embarrassment that was steadily creeping its way into his ears. He was immensely grateful for his hair, cringing at the thought of her reaction if she knew how he reacted to her comments.

"Think what you want- you're not fooling me," she drawled, adjusting her glasses on the bridge of her nose. They reflected the glint of lights that danced on the rims of the various arcade games that surrounded them.

"Ahh, to be young and in love," Hunk sighed, clasping his hands together and fluttering his eyelashes at the heavens. "How sweet."

"Shut up," Lance complained, shooting a pointed glance at his friend. Hunk simply smiled sheepishly and shrugged noncommittally. 

"Alrighty, then. Hunk and I've decided on the appropriate sentence for you, my dude." Pidge's eyes flashed with sly amusement in Keith's direction. He sighed resignedly as her mouth curled into a wry grin. "Ready for your dare?"

~~~

Of course of all people to hand out their dare, Keith just had to choose Pidge. One of the two people who knew about Lance's newfound crush. On Keith. Naturally, the scheming little gremlin that Lance called his friend (though he was considering revoking her status) would choose a dare that would "further" his "dynamic" with his rival.

"Since you two seemed so intent on holding hands earlier- don't look at me like that, I saw you both- you'll have the privilege of doing that very thing for the next two hours," she declared, obviously relishing the horrified expression that Lance knew read clearly on his face.

Luckily, Lance was not the only one who turned about twelve shades of maroon when the dare was announced. Keith looked equally mortified, while Hunk looked like he'd bust out into laughter within about two seconds. Pidge had truly taken on the role of the scheming friend and Lance was currently mulling over the very tempting thought of throttling her.

To call them out was one thing (embarrassing enough already; it had taken every ounce of confidence within Lance's body to grab Keith's hand the second time and he had been damn near elated when he hadn't pulled away at the touch). To make them hold hands in front of everyone was another ball park entirely. Did she want Keith to hate him for all eternity?

"Are you serious?" Lance desperately pleaded. He shot Pidge the most sorrowful look that he could, but she didn't budge. 

"He set the stakes," she replied shortly, motioning to the now-red boy standing beside him. Keith's hands were at his temples and Lance wondered how likely it was that he'd spontaneously combust on the spot. Hopefully not very high- being the cause of the human race's first implosion within the first few weeks of his college career probably wouldn't look too good on his transcript. 

"Pidge, we weren't _holding hands_. He was just getting me through to a spot where you can see most of the arena." Keith had removed his hands from the side of his head and they had joined his arms as they sat folded across his t-shirt clad chest.

A twinge of disappointment made its way into Lance's mind. So that's why Keith hadn't pulled away from him. It wasn't all that huge of a deal, but it definitely put a dimmer on Lance's little lightbulb of whatever-that-emotion-was. He let his shoulders slump just the tiniest bit; with any luck, nobody would notice his deflation. The faint movement hadn't escaped Hunk's notice, however- the larger boy cast a mildly questioning look in his direction.

"Regardless, it's your dare," Pidge replied faithfully. "Now, who's up for some arcade games?"

Keith cast a forlorn look down at his gloved hand, which was held at his side about a foot away from his rival's. Lance clenched his jaw in stoic determination and creased his mouth into a thin line. Lance Motherfucking McClain (so maybe that wasn't his middle name- it sounded cooler) was not going to back down from a challenge- even if it wasn't technically his. 

Next to him, Keith swallowed resolutely and balled up his fist for a moment before reaching out and grabbing Lance's hand, all while staring ahead with enough force to bore a hole in a cinder block. Lance pointedly ignored the way his pulse jumped as his palm came into contact with the pliant leather. He narrowed his eyes at the gremlin and her accomplice, who were failing to hide amused grins at the spectacle.

"What game should we play first, Pidge?" Hunk's voice was deceptively innocent as he shot a smug grin at his best friend, who prayed Keith wouldn't notice. His pride was damaged enough, and it would only be another blow if his crush- _rival_ \- noticed his hopefully not-too-obviously flustered reaction. One of the perks of tan skin was the lessened redness that accompanied a healthy blush, which Lance vehemently hoped held true in this instant.

"I don't know, Hunk," Pidge replied, voice equally innocuous. "How about Dance Dance Revolution?" If looks could kill, the both of them would be vaporized instantly. As would the wall behind them, which Keith was still staring at with a chilling intensity.

"Good idea! You and I go first, then we can leave the happy couple to battle it out on the dance pads afterwards." Hunk beamed cheerfully and winked dramatically at Lance.

Lance rolled his sleeves up as threateningly as he could muster, which was a little difficult given he was currently without the use of his left hand. "I'll have you know that-"

"Yes, yes. We're all terrified, Lance." Pidge quirked an eyebrow, blatant skepticism plain on her face. Unable to conjure up a solid comeback, Lance resorted to repeating what she'd said in an obnoxiously high-pitched, nasally tone. That'd show her. 

After too many minutes spent coaxing Keith's death glare away from the wall, Lance had managed to drag his fellow prisoner through the scattered arcade behind their friends. They arrived, both grumbling, in front of an outdated but well-loved version of Dance Dance Revolution. Pidge and Hunk had held true to their word, and he knew exactly why.

Granted, he realized that their teasing and (admittedly humiliating) dare was well-intended. There were just possibly subtler, more effective ways to charm his newest romantic endeavor. However, chances were Keith was going to be considerably tougher to crack than the majority of people- leave it to Lance to harbor a burgeoning crush on the most emotionally closed off person on the face of the earth.

It seemed smooth-talking and bad pickup lines weren't going to cut it, though Lance hoped he wouldn't have to deal with pondering it for too long. His crushes came often and dissipated as quickly as they had formed; it wasn't often that he harbored feelings for someone for over a week. Lance snorted in a futile attempt to banish his ponderings and focus instead on how to beat Pidge and Hunk while holding onto the hand of his sworn rival. 

"So how are we going to do this?" Lance asked, not turning his gaze from the other two, who were furiously stomping at various light-up panels beneath their feet. It was nothing short of comical, and he did nothing to hide his amused snickers at their efforts.

Keith's voice was as dry and toneless as the employee from earlier (seriously though, that guy had sounded about as fun to hang out with as a copying machine). "We aren't."

"What do you mean 'we aren't'?" Lance hoped the voice crack at the end of his question wasn't as prominent to Keith's ears as it was to his.

"I mean, we're not going to 'do this'. I'm not stomping like a maniac on some glowing arrow panels while this-" For emphasis, the raven held their joined hands in the air enough so that they were in Lance's line of vision. "-is in the way."

"I'm going to be mature and ignore that insult," Lance began, clicking his tongue in disapproval.

"How grown-up of you."

"Thank you. Now, as I was saying, I'm surprised you're backing down from this." Lance cocked an eyebrow in mild surprise. He knew this response would more likely than not elicit a reaction from Keith, so he decided to roll with it. "All I'm saying is by not doing anything, you'll just be letting the two of them win. And by default, I lose too."

"I won't be letting anyone 'win'." There was the indignant response Lance had been counting on. Seeing his opportunity, he pounced.

"Suit yourself, if you're okay with chickening ou-"

"Hey, Pidge! Hunk! Count on Lance and I kicking your sorry asses next round!" Keith cut in. His grip had tightened a fraction around Lance's hand, who winced. Well, at least he knew how to get the guy riled up.

"Challenge accepted!" Pidge crowed gleefully. She didn't have to turn around for Lance to sense the shit-eating grin plastered across her face.

After their competition finished with an acceptable accuracy percentage of seventy-three, it became time for Lance and Keith to stumble their way to the raised platform. Lance couldn't help but chuckle a bit at the chagrined expression adorning his rival's face, though the same embarrassment didn't hesitate to take residence in the pit of his own stomach. Enjoying the soft clink of tokens making their way into the machine, Lance straightened up again and pressed the faded "Doubles" button below the screen.

"Now comes a crucial choice, my friend. What mode do we pick?" He twisted his features into a searching gaze as Keith proceeded to fiddle idly with a stray thread protruding from his shirt. "Hey! Earth to Mullet!"

"Jesus, Lance." Keith made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat and gestured halfheartedly at the dirty screen. "Intermediate, I don't care."

"Whoa, hold up. No DDR co-player of mine is going to half-ass this competition. If you're going to play, you have to _commit_." Lance's free index finger found itself a few inches in front of Keith's nose so as to prove his point. Speaking of Keith's nose, it was definitely like, top five- no, dammit! Focus on the task at hand!

"Alright, fine. If you want to beat them, go for intermediate, like I was saying. They played at the 'Beginner' setting, so we'll probably get more points this way." 

So he had been paying attention; maybe homeslice noticed a little more than he initially let on. In the back of his mind, Lance secretly hoped he didn't notice too much- not that he was worried or anything. Nope. "Sounds like a plan to me, _amigo_. Now, for the song. Are we going to do 'Drunk in Love' by Beyonce or 'Promiscuous' by Nelly Furtado?"

Keith mimed a gagging motion at this, earning himself a sharp glare distributed by his offended teammate. "How about neither?"

"How about we get you some good music taste?" Lance shot back as he continued to scroll through the list of songs. "Found one!"

"What now?" Keith groaned, but it was too late to change the selected song. A choppy voice counted down from five as Lance shot playful finger guns in his rival's direction. His response was a truly endearing deadpan expression from the other.

"Now, we dance!" Lance chimed, as scratchy music began to pound out from the game's banged-up speakers. He grinned confidently- Lance was somewhat of a god at Dance Dance Revolution, and this was one of his favorite songs to dance to. Conversely, Keith's dry expression melted into one of embarrassed disbelief.

"It's Britney, bitch-"

"Are you serious?" Keith's voice was strangled sounding as he began to move his feet in time with the appearing and disappearing arrows. If Lance hadn't known better, he would almost have taken his tone as irked amusement. "This is like, the most Lance song ever."

"I'll take that as a compliment to both me and the song," Lance responded, eyes trained on the arrows gliding across the screen. Not letting go of Keith's hand, he began to move his feet faster and let himself move into the rhythm, shifting his torso and free arm to the beat of the music. Keith eyed him questioningly, but his eyes moved back to the screen after missing two arrows.

"Gimme, gimme more; gimme more, gimme, gimme more-"

Out of his peripheral vision, Lance noticed Pidge's smug expression. Time to up the ante. He began to move his feet outside of the light-up sections of the floor, making sure to step on the appropriate panel each time it began to glow. His shoulders rolled to the beat and he smirked at Keith, who had once again turned his focus to his dancing partner.

"Dude, what are you doing?" Keith's restrained laughter had returned, more obvious this time around. His violet eyes glinted with a hint of amusement and incredulity, though his mouth was fighting to suppress a wry smile. 

"You gotta move to the music, man! Feel the rhythm," Lance hummed. His movements stayed fluid yet controlled, shifting and gliding in time with the music. Keith's face was still fixed in the entertained look he'd adopted before. "Plus, you do better if you actually get into it instead of robotically stamping on panels, which you're doing right now."

Keith frowned at the screen, which seemed to agree with Lance- he was quickly falling behind. His vividly colored eyes returned to his teammate imploringly, lips twisting into a half-smile. "What do I have to do?"

"Is _the_ Keith asking for my advice? After making a joke earlier? This is a day of firsts."

"I'll be more than happy to take it back."

"Okay, okay." Lance sighed, though the quirked corners of his mouth betrayed his lack of legitimate annoyance. "First, you have to find the beat- which shouldn't be too hard with this song. Next, start to pick up the pace of your feet and move them a little outside of the panels; your movements won't be as restricted this way."

Keith obliged, tentatively stepping outside of the multicolored panels every once in a while. His feet began to work slightly faster as he did so, shoes shifting to the steely gray spaces around his panels. Neither lessened their grip on the other's hand, a fact Lance was becoming increasingly aware of as he began to feel his palm clam up. Jesus, he really didn't need sweaty palms right now. He doubted it struck Keith as a very endearing quality.

"What now?" Lance's thoughts were jerked away from his clammy palms and back to the matter at hand, which was essentially to beat the pants off of his two friends via an ancient arcade game.

"Alright, now you gotta start moving your hips and torso. It's hard to explain- you just have to start rolling your hips and shoulders in time with the music so you look more like you're dancing and less like you're trying to murder a bug." At this last comment, Keith's eyebrows raised slightly, though he evidently opted not to fire back. 

Less than a minute later, Team Klance had pulled out on top yet again.

When Lance had first met Keith, he'd never have pegged him as a guy who could dance. In fact, he initially came off as the kind of dude who wouldn't recognize a beat if it whacked him across the face with a brick. After the party where the two of them had... danced, Lance had to admit that the guy wasn't terrible. Turns out, he may be better than he let show through.

Yeah, he was definitely better than he let show through.

Damn, when he wanted to, that boy could _move_. 

Somehow, in the span of roughly forty-five seconds, Lance was forced to rethink every "edgy, emo, uncoordinated angstlord" preconception he harbored. Keith not only proved that he knew how to move his feet- he knew how to move virtually every part of him as well. Maybe the How To Dance 101 rundown from Lance wasn't required after all.

During Matt's party, the music for the majority of the night sounded like something you'd hear at a rave. Keith obviously knew how to work with that- though it wasn't all too hard, given the fact that all you had to do to be considered "dancing" in that sort of setting was grind some sort of body part against someone else. Yeah, Keith _definitely_ knew how to do that- nope. Not going down that road. That was a very slippery slope that Lance most certainly didn't want to fall down, especially not right next to the object of his... overactive imagination. Not doing that.

This, however, was another thing entirely. This was real music, with words and choruses and changes in beat. Keith adjusted to every change without missing a beat- literally. His shoulders rolled in time with his hips as his feet easily found their bearings on each panel when they lit up. All the while, his back shifted in coordination and his gaze remained fixated on the screen, where arrows appeared with increasing frequency. 

And no, Lance _wasn't_ distracted by the way Keith's rolling shoulders pulled his black shirt tighter across his chest, or the way his hair swayed and absorbed the flashing lights emitted by the game, or the way his sharp jaw clenched in concentration, or the way his eyes glinted with steely determination. Not one bit. Well, maybe a little bit. 

Truth be told, he may have misstepped once or twice (or five times, but whatever) given his newfound distraction. Lance made a mental note to get Keith to dance more often. To make matters worse, their hands were still firmly intertwined and Lance's hand was beginning to feel like the human equivalent of the Pacific Ocean. 

"Eighty-six percent accuracy!" Lance whooped, high-fiving his teammate with his free hand. Keith grinned sheepishly and returned the gesture, straining every so slightly as to reach his lankier friend's hand.

"So the dream team finished first again," Pidge commented from her perch on Hunk's back. When had she climbed up there? "I wish I could say I didn't see it coming."

Keith hummed. "What're you saying?"

"I'm saying you two actually work well together- even if you tend to grate on each other's nerves." The corners of her mouth quirked up into a sly smile. "I think Team Klance is a solid team after all."

"I think we can all thank my incredible teaching skills for this one-" Lance half protested, half drawled. 

"I'm going to have to disagree with you there, buddy," Hunk cut in, smiling sympathetically before gesturing to his fellow prisoner. "Keith picked it up as soon as you gave him the basic steps."

"Whatever," Lance huffed. Unfortunately, he had to admit that Keith was a much better dancer than anticipated- definitely something that deserved some more looking into in the very near future. For now, however, his attention was trained on something else entirely. "Ever played Terminator?"

The next day, he found himself wishing those horribly animated killer robots in the game had shot him instead. Anything would beat math class. Anything. 

Honestly, fuck circles. Fuck pi. Fuck sines and cosines and tangents. Maybe he could just drop out and find himself a solid sugar daddy. That would work- just drop onto some dating app, find a considerably wealthy and older guy, smooth talk him, get some spending money, and use it to buy a gallon of bleach so he could blind himself after receiving the first dick pic. Okay, so maybe find a considerably wealthy and _handsome_ older guy. 

Lance counted the steps on his fingers, quietly ticking off each stepping stone to a life full of lavish gifts and hopefully decent looking older dudes. "Ok, so all I gotta do is find a-"

The eraser end of a pencil prodded gently against his arm. "Lance?"

"Sugar daddy!" Lance yelped, clapping a hand over his mouth. Keith stared at him, vibrant eyes alight with intrigued confusion. A couple of students in front of him turned around at the outburst, and one girl had the audacity to try and hide a snort. He gave her the death stare and lowered his voice, turning to the raven sitting next to him. "What?" he hissed.

"Sorry to interrupt your oddly kinky daydreams, but I was going to ask if you had any spare pencil lead," Keith shot back, typical surly look plastered across his face. 

"Okay, first of all, I'm not having 'oddly kinky daydreams', I'm plotting to drop out of school and find myself a- alright, that might sound a little weird. Fair enough," Lance sighed, pressing two fingers to his temple. "Secondly, I'm pretty sure I do. Just hold on a sec."

He reached over and groped around for a moment, finally grasping the fabric of his backpack and hauling it onto his lap. Speaking of things in his lap- moving on. Lance tugged the zipper of the front pocket open, fishing around inside for his little case of lead. Admittedly, he wasn't the most orderly person ever; Hunk more than took over that position. "Hah! Got some," he crowed, retrieving a capsule of pencil lead and handing some to Keith, who nodded and slid some into his pencil. 

"So, care to fill me in on your plans to find a sugar daddy?" the raven joked, and Lance could've sworn he saw him wink the tiniest bit. To his chagrin, his brain decided a wink looked very good on Keith.

"Well, first off, I'd have to find a good app to meet guys on- got any suggestions for me?"

"If you're looking for little to no commitment, I'd suggest Grindr."

"Should I be worried that you didn't have to give that any thought at all?"

"Hmm, probably. Carry on."

Lance chuckled, though he made an extra effort not to picture Keith swiping through Grindr. Yet another mental image he didn't want in his head. "Next, I'd want to find a few guys and make sure they're really as rich as they say they are. I don't plan to get cheated out of my cash. Then I'd find a really hot dude somewhere and use his pictures to catfish said rich dudes."

"Why would you catfish them?" Keith's voice wasn't mocking; it was purely curious. Lance's leg began to bounce up and down ever so slightly as he sat under the violet gaze.

"I don't know, I'd just need to find someone really attractive to bait them. I doubt I'd have the same effect as a male model. When they fall hook, line, and sinker-" Lance's voice sounded a little too unsure for his taste. Damn Keith for looking a him so intently. Damn his stomach for doing those tiny little flips it seemed to do every time those eyes drilled into him.

Keith muttered something under his breath, face buried into his crossed arms on the surface of the (probably extremely dirty) desk. He averted his piercing gaze, eyes dropping to the surface of the table.

"Sorry, sunshine, didn't quite catch that," Lance coaxed. Keith fixed him with his all-too familiar stare, but said nothing. The brunet raised an eyebrow imploringly, head tilting ever so slightly to one side. A caramel lock of hair fell into his vision and he brushed it away, recoiling at the tickling sensation it left on his face.

Keith's glare still hadn't left Lance; it was a little unsettling yet sort of cute at the same time. Something flickered behind the ferociously purple irises before they finally darted away, choosing to linger on a poster slightly to their left. "I said you wouldn't need to catfish them."

Whoa. Had Keith just _complimented_ him? Was he actually being nice? "Sorry, did I hear you wrong? Did you actually just compliment me?"

"I take it back."

"No, no, you can't take it back. Compliment's been packaged, delivered, and received. With a full unboxing video to boot."

"Christ. Remind me to never be nice to you again."

"Will you feel better if I compliment you too?"

"Given your less-than-eloquent use of words, I'm gonna say probably not."

"I'll ignore that. I'm giving you a compliment regardless."

Lance furiously racked his brain for a good compliment to give. It wasn't that he didn't have any material; the issue was making it sound sincere without coming off as really, really weird. After a moment of searching for the right words, he grinned triumphantly at his classmate. "You have a cute wink."

Keith's nose wrinkled. "Seriously?"

"'Seriously' as in 'is that the best you can do' or 'seriously' as in 'are you being legit'?"

"As in, 'are you being legit?'"

"I am many things, Mullet, but I'm not a liar. If I say you have a cute wink, then it is so."

"Whatever you say. My wink isn't cute."

"Ooh, the emo in you is showing. Better go scream out some 'Black Parade' before it threatens to take over."

"Shut up, McClain."

"Why don't you just go ahead and make me?"

Keith rolled his eyes, returning his head to the desk surface and burying his nose in the crook of his elbow. Lance fervently prayed that he hadn't taken it too seriously or gotten weirded out, though his fears were dispelled when the raven scoffed out a "I get the feeling that was supposed to be flirty, but the vibes I'm getting are more 'sock me in the mouth'."

"That's most definitely not the vibe I was going for," Lance assured him playfully, though he was met with a steely glare. "Alright, alright, don't make me shut up- with your lips _or_ your fist."

"Christ, would you be so kind as to stop flirting with each other? It's really distracting," a low voice questioned disdainfully from the seats behind them. 

Lance turned around and met the cool gaze of a guy around his age, though it was immediately evident the two of them had nothing in common. He had long hair, bleached and dyed white. His cheekbones were high and prominent, sitting below a pair of calculating gray eyes. A humorless smirk sat upon his face, though it didn't near his eyes. His skin was fair and unblemished, his clothes pristine and unwrinkled. Lance disliked him immediately.

"We're not flirting," Lance growled, blue eyes clashing against gray. "So would you mind not pushing yourself into our conversation?"

"It sure sounded like flirting to me," his classmate mused, peering at him distastefully out of the corners of his colorless eyes.

"Like he said: not your conversation." Keith scowled up at him over his shoulder. His shoulders were raised up the slightest bit so his onyx locks were touching his torso- he looked almost defensive, Lance realised. 

"I really couldn't care less about what you two were saying. I just want you to shut up." Their classmate's tone was more clipped now, irritation settling into his voice. Lance felt a twinge of satisfaction at being able to rile up the pompous jerk. 

"That's really too bad," Lance retorted, sarcasm dripping from his tone. "As I was saying, Keith..."

He could practically hear the guy's eye roll from behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really appreciate the people who actually care enough to read each chapter- it means a lot. Thanks for sticking through thus far :)


	5. The Bike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler: it's just 10 pages of me screaming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesus, it's been a HOT MINUTE since I've posted. I'm so sorry I've been so inconsistent!!

**TEAM VOLTRON**

*Gordon Ramsey*

_Can you believe the amount of homework that prof. Sendak assigned?_

_This is such bs._

*Edgelord Supreme*

_I second that._

_By the way, my roommate is out tonight again (probably screwing her boyfriend at his place). Anyone up for a horror movie?_

*Lance*

_Fuck yeah_

_Nothing like a good old horror movie to aid already fatal sleep deprivation_

*Edgelord Supreme*

_We're all gonna die anyways. Just die with a good adrenaline rush going through._

*Space Ranger Parter*

_It better actually be scary, not "extremely fake-looking blood" scary though_

*Lance*

_First of all, extremely cheesy horror movies are a GIFT_

_Second, count me in_

*Gordon Ramsey*

_I guess I can hold off on homework for a night._

_If I end up dying of a heart attack, I'm blaming Pidge._

*Edgelord Supreme*

_Fair enough._

_I have the perfect movie- get your asses over in an hour._

*Space Ranger Partner*

_Do we need to bring anything?_

*Edgelord Supreme*

_Only your wits._

_And snacks._

*Gordon Ramsey*

_Nope._

_No._

_I bring the snacks._

_Remember the last time?_

*Edgelord Supreme*

_Only your wits._

Lance snorted, setting his phone down on his bed next to him and laying down on his back. Inhaling contentedly, he absentmindedly ran a hand through his mess of hair and examined the nail beds of his other hand. It appeared everything remained in order- Lance always made sure that even though his life was somewhat of a flaming hot mess, it'd be a cold day in hell before he looked it.

Of course, his flaming hot mess of an existence only went up in smoke more after that goddamn first day of school- the day he'd met Keith. His rival. His crush. Stupid Keith, with his infuriatingly rare wink and playful smirk and piercing violet eyes.

Eyes that could slice through steel like it was butter; eyes that gazed so softly it felt like Lance was melting. Violet, violet, violet. The color of orchids and plums and amethyst. If the ocean were purple, he'd be drowning. Soft, serene eyes peering at him from next to him on the surface of a plush comforter, sincere and kind. Ferocious, harsh eyes narrowed in concentration.

Violet, violet, violet.

As much as he tried to ignore it, the realisation that it had been well over a week since Lance had become aware of his crush on his rival prodded at his brain. In fact, it was nearing the five week mark- it was incredibly rare that his attention remained on a specific person for more than two. Something about Keith just pulled him in and held him there; whether it was his striking appearance or fierce personality or a mix of the two or something else entirely, he had no idea.

It didn't help that every time that contact name popped up on his screen, his traitorous heart leapt up into his throat, threatening to cut off his air supply. Lance was sliding none too gracefully down a steep slope with no foreseeable bottom.

Of course, Pidge and Hunk were next to no help with quelling his fears- they were basically the college equivalents of cupid applicant rejects. More often than not, when Keith's name was mentioned offhandedly, Pidge would sneak a sly glance in her friend's direction. More often than not, Lance would consider duct taping her conniving little mouth shut (purely out of affection).

Hunk would try to offer his best advice, using tips and tricks he'd picked up while talking to Shay. A couple weeks back, the two of them had gone out to coffee and then the library to study together, and their little "get-togethers" only became increasingly frequent as a result. After their third, Hunk had returned to his and Lance's shared dorm and promptly proceeded to envelop his lankier friend in the most bone-crushing hug imaginable. Lance was just as happy as he was, though maybe next time they'd skip the embraces.

Though he boasted of his romantic prowess day in and day out, Lance truthfully wasn't quite a master at handling crushes. They typically stopped short after a while, though that didn't seem to be the case this time around. It threw him for a loop, honestly; the hammering in his chest never quite dissipated when Keith was nearby. Frankly, it was infuriating.

"Jeeeeesussss," came the loud groan from outside his door. Lance poked his head out and caught a glimpse of his best friend slumped over their tiny coffee table.

"You doing okay there, buddy?" Lance asked, stifling a chuckle. These little meltdowns weren't uncommon, and they never lost their humorous appeal- though it wasn't to say he lacked pity for his friend. Often times, they would end up ranting to each other about the unfair dictatorship that was Iverson's regime.

"Yeah, doing great!" Hunk's sarcastically chipper voice floated over, accompanied by a less-than-enthusiastic thumbs-up.

Lance nodded solemnly and drifted over to where his friend lay sprawled out. "I feel for you, my dude. Just do what I do! Take a fluffy pillow, inhale, and screech."

"I think I'll take you up on that one," Hunk agreed. "Mind handing me one?"

Lance eagerly complied, handing over a puffy yellow one embroidered with stars. Hunk had named it 'Old Faithful', since he'd owned it for just about as long as the two of them could remember. As Lance had instructed, Hunk took in a deep breath, held it for a moment, and proceeded to scream into the fluffy depths.

A loud knocking resounded around their dorm, seemingly coming from the wall they shared with two other guys. "Will you two quit the yelling? I deal with this shit like, at least once a day!" The irritated voice was muffled by the wall, and Lance was admittedly grateful that its owner couldn't see the rather crudely unveiled middle finger directed at him.

"Only if you'd shut the fuck up yourself, sunshine!" he called cheerfully, eliciting a loud growl from the next dorm over.

"Don't you think there are more... I don't know, amicable... ways to handle things?" Hunk asked, face having been removed from Old Faithful.

"There are, but they're so much less fun!" Lance chirped, watching gleefully as Hunk plunged his exasperated face into the pillow again, this time letting out a long sigh.

~~~

*Keith*

_And he has this really annoying smug grin_

_And this really dumb laugh_

_And he dances like ALL THE TIME_

*Dentures*

_Mhm?_

*Keith* 

_Don't even get me started on his taste in music._

*Dentures* 

_You sure talk about Lance a lot._

*Keith* 

_...and what do you mean by that?_

*Dentures* 

_Oh, nothing important._

*Keith* 

_Takashi Shirogane I swear to god_

_What do you mean by that_

*Dentures* 

_I dunno, just seems like you don't actually detest him as much as you say you do._

_I might even go as far as to say you're coming across as if you like him ;)_

*Keith* 

_WHAT_

_NO_

_Nononononononononono_

_I don't "like" Lance!!!!!_

_He's my RIVAL_

_Not my CRUSH_

*Dentures* 

_Okay, I'll accept that if you can name solid five reasons right now as for why you wouldn't date him._

*Keith* 

_Fine_

_1\. His pickup lines suck_

_2\. He's an insane flirt_

_3\. He's_

_Oh, fUCK_

_NO_

*Dentures* 

_My little bro has a crush!!_

_Awww..._

*Keith* 

_I swear to god Shiro_

_Do not play matchmaker_

*Dentures* 

_No guarantees. If you two end up as partners for a project or two..._

_... well, we can just blame that on fate._

~~~ 

"Alrighty!" Lance marched into Pidge's flat, a bottle of soda under each arm. Whoever decided to give him the soda bottles probably hadn't been thinking straight; his perpetual hyperactivity was causing the bottles to shake and the soda to fizz. He most definitely didn't plan on being the one to open them. "Who's ready to par-tay?" 

"Oh boy," Pidge groaned from one side of her faded olive-colored couch, and Lance shot her a glare. "Can't wait to 'par-tay'." 

"So what movie?" Keith yawned, already sprawled out across the couch, opposite Pidge. His hair was loose and reflected the dim light, and he had obviously dressed accordingly. Red plaid pajama pants and a tight (dear lord, why did it have to be tight?) black shirt somehow managed to look good on him, and Lance cursed himself for the millionth time. Why did he have to have a crush on Keith? Fate had it in for him, to say the least. 

Pidge grinned evilly. "Depends on whether or not you feel like sleeping tonight." She wiggled her eyebrows mischievously and Lance made a mental note to never let her pick what to watch on movie nights. 

"I'm kind of a fan of sleep." Hunk scratched the back of his neck, setting the snacks he brought down on the coffee table. "Like, a big fan." 

"I can handle anything!" Lance declared, puffing his chest out for emphasis. He wasn't about to be scared shitless by some B-list horror movie; especially not in front of Keith. No way he'd ever live it down. 

Keith shrugged, shoulders rising up to meet the mess of black hair that tumbled down his neck. "I'm good with anything as long as it's actually scary and not something that would freak out a seven year old." 

"Speaking of emotionally scarred seven year olds," Lance interjected, "Who decided that Coraline was a kid's movie? That piece of work was the cause of a month of sleep deprivation." He plopped down on the couch next to Keith (though he elected to ignore the snicker of amusement from Pidge's direction). 

"Jesus, don't remind me." Hunk moved to sit between Pidge and Lance, his face contorted into an expression of decidedly disturbed nostalgia. "That ending where the mom was doing that weird crawly thing on the web? No thanks." 

"I liked that movie!" Pidge huffed, crossing her arms. She was almost comically dwarfed sitting next to Hunk- she looked like a little teeny tiny elf. Lance would never tell her that, though; his funeral would be held the following morning. 

"Of course you would," Hunk sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's so... you." 

Pidge grinned smugly. "Sure is. Now, what movie?" When nobody offered up any suggestions, she rolled her eyes dramatically, glasses reflecting the dim beams of light that illuminated the room. "Wow, try not to talk over each other." 

Keith shifted a little next to Lance, who was working desperately to convince himself that no, his heart wasn't trying to jump out of his chest. The devil works hard, but Lance McClain works harder. "How about _Alien_?" He offered, and Lance snickered. 

"Isn't that movie like, super old?" His tone of voice had instantly taken on an almost snobbish tone, and Lance internally facepalmed himself as soon as the words left his lips. Would it be possible to just not get all up in Keith's face for _five seconds_? Just once? Actually, scratch that. He would love to get all up in Keith's face, but maybe under different circumstances- 

"Got something against old movies?" Keith countered, and Lance shook his head no. In truth, Lance loved movies from the 70's and 80's; John Hughes and Steven Spielberg were legends, there was no dispute. Unfortunately, his mouth didn't seem to be equipped with the filter that most people's did. Lance silently elected to keep his mouth shut. "Didn't think so." 

__

"You guys are such an old married couple," grumbled Hunk, though well-intended humor was written plainly on his face. If he wasn't Lance's best friend, the big guy would probably be a dead man walking by now. "But I'm down for _Alien_. I've heard great stuff about it." The Samoan shot him one last sly wink before sinking down between the worn cushions of Pidge's couch, and Lance swore that someday, he was going to have a field day when Shay was around.

An hour or so later, Hunk was happily passed out next to him, crumbs dusting the front of his shirt and corners of his mouth. Pidge was most definitely on her way to sleep as well, cheeto dust on her fingers and somehow inexplicably in her light hair. Lance, however, was wide awake, eyes glued to the screen. It was the sole source of light in the otherwise pitch black room, which admittedly couldn't be good for his vision- but as the saying went, he was here for a good time, not a long time. 

Keith was alert as well, leaning forward with his arms between his legs. As much as he hated to admit it, Lance was at least a tiny bit grateful for this position next to the raven. He'd be lying if he said he didn't sneak a glance at the form next to him every once in a while- and did that shirt really have to be so... tight? It simply wasn't fair to have that torso and those arms and that effortlessly gorgeous face next to him; it just wasn't. Keith was, without a doubt, one of the most attractive guys he'd ever seen. 

__

Unfortunately for Lance, he'd become lost in thought for just long enough to have lost his grasp on the plotline. "What just happened? I kinda zoned out for a sec there," he whispered to Keith, whose eyes remained transfixed on the screen.

__

"Guy. In vents. Blip incoming." 

__

"Wh-" Before he could appropriately express his annoyance at Keith's lack of explanatory skills, the Xeno-whatever appeared out of nowhere, teeth glimmering in the shadowy light of the duct. Lance's heart shot into his throat, and suddenly he had a very good idea of how a heart attack must feel. 

__

Both boys screamed; Keith threw himself back into the couch reflexively. Lance did as well- or at least, he tried to. Instead of going backwards, he managed to somehow fling himself back at such an angle that he landed right in the lap of the enemy (or: object of his affections). Keith's arms wrapped around him in a split second of terror, probably in a feeble attempt to brace the two of them- unnecessarily so since the threat was, you know, in the TV. 

__

The both of them stayed frozen for what felt like forever (but was probably no more than ten seconds), heartbeats racing and breathing shallow. Lance wondered how much of it was the shock and how much of it was the fact that he was pressed up against Keith's chest with a pair of arms around his waist. The raven's small puffs of breath against Lance's tan skin made the fine hairs there stand on end and his face flush. 

__

With an embarrassed chuckle, Lance clambered off of Keith's lap. He returned to his previous seat on the couch next to his friend, fighting down a sheepish grin. "This movie's wild, huh?" 

__

"Wild," Keith repeated, so lowly it was almost inaudible. He let out a small puff of air that caused the wisps of his jet-black hair to flutter around his face. The dull flashes emanating from the TV ghosted over his face and made his eyes glow the faintest bit, like some form of burning violet ember. His face was oh-so-slightly flushed, and his rosy pink lips were curled into the beginnings of a small smile. 

__

In that moment, Lance knew- he was in deep shit. Heart pounding and blood rushing through his ears, he allowed himself to relax back into the pillows of the couch. Through the rest of the movie, he tried his best to focus on the people being eaten alive by the vicious alien. He really, truly did- though his thoughts constantly insisted on returning to a certain classmate sitting directly to his right. 

__

He'd actually been so preoccupied with contemplating whether his best option was to fling himself into the void or not that he hadn't noticed the credits start rolling until Keith reached for the remote. "It's a little late, huh?" Keith murmured, and Lance hummed his agreement. The clock read 1:34 and by the looks of it, Hunk wasn't going to be ready to leave any time soon. 

__

"Hunk and I are probably gonna crash here tonight," Lance concluded, eyes roving over the softly snoring form of his friend. "How about you?" 

__

Keith shifted a little next to him, but nodded his head yes. Inside his head, Lance did a little happy jig. At long last, they'd hit another milestone at integrating Keith into their group- having him over. Though he had hung out plenty of times with the group, he had never ended up sleeping over at any of their places. Lance had given up trying to pretend that he didn't want it to happen long ago. 

__

At this point, he didn't even try to deny any feelings toward Keith. In the short couple of months that they'd known each other, Lance had absolutely, positively, one hundred percent fallen for him. God knows why; the boy was an absolute wreck. But then again, so was he. Maybe the two of them were total losers and absolute fuckups. But maybe - just maybe - there was the chance they could be absolute fuckups together. 

__

~~~ 

Why did Keith agree to sleep at Pidge's place? Somehow, Lance and that quirky little grin of his had roped him into spending the night and now he was laying out a pillow and blanket on the floor in the next room over. Funnily enough, Lance had elected to do the same thing right next to him, so his plan to just try and erase the Latino boy from his mind altogether wasn't going to be an option anymore. He laughed to himself dryly; it seemed that wherever he went he was plagued with thoughts of Lance.

Math class? Lance was constantly asking for help with various functions and equations (so the rumor that bisexuals were bad at math was true, he assumed). Hanging out with Pidge or Hunk? Lance's name would always be dropped here or there throughout conversations- it was bound to happen when they shared the same group of friends. Conversations with Shiro? Their little talks turned into mini interrogations about Keith's love life more often than not. 

The moments when he was alone were even worse. When Keith was at his desk, doing homework? His mind would wander back to a shitty joke Lance had told, or a pickup line jokingly used on him earlier that day. When he was propped up on his couch, back against a stack of pillows? It'd be as if there was an unceasing loop in his head of Lance's laugh or flashes of his smile or the crinkles next to the corners of his eyes from the constant grin he had on his face. And when Keith was laying on his mattress, hair plastered around his face and clinging to his neck, clutching at burning sheets for some sort of relief? It was always Lance there behind his shut eyelids. 

He was royally screwed.

"Give me a sec, I gotta go wash my face." Lance shot him a cheeky wink and stood up, dusting his pants off.

Like many times before, Keith had been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he hadn't realized Lance was talking to him, and now he felt like a dick for not listening. It wasn't that he didn't care; he really did. Keith, more than anything, wanted to learn about Lance. He wanted to know what Lance's favorite movie had been growing up. He wanted to know what the first thing on his mind was when he woke up each morning. He wanted to know the story behind every scratch, scar, and mark on Lance's body. He wanted to just fall into Lance entirely and let himself sink into those oceanic eyes. 

God, he was probably just tired. That's what was spurring on these weirdly introspective moments of his. Oh boy, he could already picture the raccoon-esque eyebags he'd be sporting tomorrow. 

When Lance returned a few minutes later, Keith was absentmindedly fiddling with the hem of his shirt, plucking and pulling at the loose threads poking out of the fabric. He'd heard the soft padding of feet signaling that his friend was making his way back to their impromptu sleeping area and had resolved to make as little eye contact as possible. This was for the sole purpose of pretending that he wasn't sharing a room with the guy he was hopelessly pining after, because god knows that wouldn't make sleeping any easier.

"Thank fuck I keep some skincare stuff here," Lance announced, running a hand through his caramel hair and causing small drops of water to fall to the floor near Keith's left foot. "I think I might have an aneurysm if I went without washing my face. Could you imagine the amount of oil I'd have on my face?"

Keith snorted softly. "That would be a damn catastrophe. I hope I never have to see the day." He looked up at Lance, who nodded solemnly. A tiny droplet raced its way down the tan skin of the taller boy's neck and disappeared into the hemline of his shirt. He moved to lay down on his blanket and Keith scooted back further onto his own to make more room, inadvertently knocking his knee against Lance's.

Keith laid down as well, only about a foot from his friend. He allowed himself the tiniest peek over his left shoulder and watched as Lance's chest rose and fell silently. "Do you want me to turn the light off?" he asked, a little irked at having to disturb the serenity that the brunet exuded. 

Lance turned his head a little in his direction and nodded quietly, hint of a smile playing across his lips. "Gettin' tired over there, sleepyhead?" Keith shook his head and flicked off the light, clambering under the covers of his makeshift bed. 

"You wish," he retorted. "to quote a very wise individual: sleep is for the weak." Lance snorted beside him, and a tiny bit of Keith cheered internally at having made him laugh. He chewed at the inside of his cheek for a moment before opening his mouth again. "Really, though. That movie never fails to wig me out a little bit. Too many teeth."

"Is that so?" Keith could practically hear the smirk in Lance's voice. "Afraid of the big scary alien coming to get you in the middle of the night?"

"Something like that," he conceded, and shifted onto his shoulder in Lance's direction. "You tired?"

Lance shook his head; Keith could hear the ruffling of his hair against the pillow. "Nah, not really. Which is a little weird, considering it's like 2:15 in the morning, but I'm not going to complain." There was the sound of fabric again, but now Keith could feel the most miniscule puffs of air on his face. Judging by his silhouette (Keith's eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness), Lance was now facing him too. "Feel like sharing any stories about your emo past?"

"Not on your life."

"Oh come on," Lance huffed, propping his head up on his elbow. "I thought we bonded!"

"It's nothing personal. I refuse to reflect on that period of my life any more than is strictly necessary."

"Alright, fair enough. Ask me a question then; I can never come up with any good ones."

Keith thought for a moment, clicking his tongue. "Okay, I got one. Would you rather walk in on your parents doing the deed or have them walk in on you?"

"Well," Lance began, "both options sound like I would go through the rest of my life with considerable mental scars, but I'd have to say have them walk in on me. I mean otherwise, every time I'd be about to get laid: boom. There's an image of my mom. And out the window flies any chance of me getting a hard-on."

The thought of Lance envisioning his mother every time he attempted to fuck someone was enough to send Keith into a fit of sleep deprived giggles. This, of course, caused Lance to snicker, and soon enough they were both clutching pillows to their faces to muffle their laughter. "Oh my god," Keith gasped, "I'm going to fucking cry. I swear. The idea of you trying to get it on but being cockblocked by the image your goddamn mother-"

"Shut up," Lance hissed, but soon he was back to giggling into his arm. "Alright, now let me think of something to ask you."

Keith was finally beginning to regain his composure again, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. "Take all the time you need." He set down his pillow once again and patted it twice for good measure.

"What would a world populated by clones of you be like?" Lance asked after a minute. Keith searched his mind for the most likely outcome and nodded to himself when he reached an honest conclusion. 

"Probably on fire."

Lance shot him a thumbs-up. "Fair enough, amigo. And probably true. Your turn."

Alright, time for the deep shit. There were a few questions that Keith liked to ask people he wanted to get to know better- sometimes, you could learn so much about a person's morals and values from a simple hypothetical question. "If tomorrow was the last day before the end of the world, how would you spend it?"

Lance was silent for a moment. "I'd probably get all my friends and family and everyone that I could together in one place and have a giant party so I could go surrounded by people I care about." He paused, scratching at his head. "And I'd probably tell the person that I like how I feel about them."

Oh. 

"The person you like?" Keith repeated, despising the crack in his voice. With every breath he took in it felt like his heart sank deeper and deeper into his chest, heavy as lead. His jaw clenched unconsciously and he ran a hand through the mass of dark hair spilling across his forehead.

"Yeah, the person I like," Lance sighed. The darkness enveloping them was beginning to seem much heavier and more foreign. Keith's throat felt very, very dry. "They're pretty damn cool." 

"Oh. Do you- do you like them a lot?" Keith clenched his fist. Why the hell did he have to ask that type of question when he knew the answer would just eat away at him? He just had to know.

Lance smiled at him dazedly, a dopey smile curling on the corners of his lips. "You have no idea. I haven't even known them for very long, and every time I see them, my heart feels like it's gonna explode."

Keith bit his tongue and swallowed thickly. He wanted to say something so badly- to say anything at all. Tell Lance just how often he crossed his mind and how pretty his eyes were and how he wanted to hold his hand more than anything in the world. But he couldn't. It just wasn't going to happen. "You care a lot about them, huh?"

Lance hummed his agreement. "Do you like anyone?" he asked, and Keith wanted to laugh. If only he knew. If only Lance knew just how much he liked someone. If only Lance knew who that someone was. 

"Yeah," he replied, voice hoarse and filled with something he couldn't quite place. Jealousy? Anger? Bitterness? Keith wasn't sure, and he didn't like it at all. His chest felt hot and his heart felt heavy and more than anything, he felt stupid. It was stupid of him to have entertained the idea of Lance possibly liking him. "yeah, I do."

Keith rolled onto his back and silently wished for Lance to fall asleep. Suddenly, he wasn't so sure he wanted to talk any more tonight. Against his hopes Lance spoke again, voice quiet and unassuming. "Is he cool?"

A dull pain was becoming more and more prominent in his mind as Keith continued to dig his fingernails into his palm, not once unclenching his fist. In that moment, he wanted to be anywhere but there. Anywhere but that small room in Pidge's dorm. Anywhere but next to Lance. "He's really cool. He's funny and unique and-" his voice caught in his throat. 

"And?" Lance prompted him. His eyes were still biting into Keith's, who could do nothing but sit and wish for this agonizing conversation to be over already. He offered an unsure smile that Keith made no attempt to return.

Keith's breath hitched in his throat as he tried his best to keep his voice steady. "And way better than I'll ever be," he choked out. His heart was sinking deeper and deeper. His throat was made of sandpaper. "Unattainable."

"Huh?" Lance shifted in closer to him, eyes barely visible in the darkness but somehow still managing to blaze with curiosity. God, if only Keith could escape those eyes. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to unclench his jaw. Lance was asking reasonable questions. Keith had no right to be bitter at him right now; whether his crush liked someone else or not was not a reason to be a dick to him. "He's hilariously out of my league. I'd never have a chance with him. Not in a million billion years." Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and he furiously willed them to disappear. No way was he going to cry.

Lance coughed beside him, and when he spoke again his voice sounded clear and determined. "What the hell are you talking about, Keith? You not having a chance with some dude? That's funny. Really. You're good at jokes."

Keith wanted to tell him to shut up. To stop talking and make it easier for Keith to wish this all away. To stop making things worse, because he knew that Lance's words were just going to echo in his head for days and get his hopes up one way or another. "No, I'm not kidding. He's so charismatic and interesting and outgoing and brave and the idea of him liking me is so laughable that I feel like a dumbass for even thinking about it."

"Cut it out, already, dude. I bet you that there are like, twenty guys and thirty girls that would give up a leg to date you. You're-"

"I'm what, Lance? Special? Unique? Different? Thanks for the pity, but you can keep it," Keith spat. His words tumbled off of his tongue, scorching the insides of his mouth and leaving a bitter taste. Lance leaned back away from him the tiniest bit; no more than a centimeter or two, but Keith felt a pang in his chest nonetheless. Through the hazy blackness between him, he saw Lance's eyebrows furrow and his eyes widen the slightest bit, and the knife in his chest twisted. "God, fuck. I'm sorry, that was way out of line and I didn't mean it. That was an asshole thing to say."

Lance moved in again the slightest bit and feigned punching him on the shoulder. "Yeah, it kinda was, Mullet. But it's okay." He cracked a small smile and the cavity in Keith's chest lessened again. "If it makes you feel any better, we're in the same boat crush-wise. I mean, mine? He's- they're something else." 

Some ugly part of Keith buried way deep down felt a spark of relief at hearing that Lance may not get with whoever he liked. Was that messed up? Probably. But it made him feel better regardless. He made a mental note to file the word "he's" away for later as well. Keith rolled onto his shoulder again, violet eyes flicking over to match the blue ones that were gazing over much more kindly than what he deserved. "Sucks for us, I guess," he said wryly. 

"Majorly," Lance agreed. His eyes not moving from Keith's, he pretended to stroke his chin thoughtfully. "Hey, I've got an idea."

"Full steam ahead," Keith replied, the corners of his mouth twisting into a dry grin.

Lance cleared his throat dramatically and nodded once. "Okay, okay, hear me out here. You promise you're not gonna shoot this down in half a second?"

"Oh god. You're not doing a great job of selling this right off of the bat. Never be a telemarketer, please-"

"I'm going to take that as an 'I promise'," Lance cut in. He wiggled his eyebrows at Keith suggestively before continuing on. "So if in maybe two months time, both of us are still horrifically single - which isn't much of a stretch, given that neither of us would know romance if it slapped us across the face with a wooden stick- we do something? Like go out somewhere to celebrate our hopelessness or something like that?"

Keith let out a low chuckle to mask the mini internal screaming session in his brain. Lance was asking him out. Romantic or not, it was enough to spur his insides into playing double dutch. "A little bleak, don't you think?" Lance nodded a little bit, throwing in a shrug as well. "I mean, why not? We can be lonely together. Dynamic duo, and all that."

"I like the way you think, my man," Lance laughed. "It's settled then: in two months, if neither of us are dating, I'll show up at your door with a bouquet of flowers and we'll drive off to some restaurant and drown our sorrows in cheap food."

"That's an idea I can get behind. And I'll treat you to a cherry soda with all the refills you want," Keith added. "If I really save up, I can get you a large."

"Damn, a large? Screw two months; let's give it two weeks. You have me sold."

"Two weeks it is. But you're driving."

"It's a deal."

Keith laid back again, yawning quietly. "Jesus, what time is it?"

"Probably way too late."

"Well, you're most likely not wrong. I'll probably pass out in the next two and a half minutes."

"Yeah, me too."

Of their own volition, Keith's heavy eyelids began to drift shut. He smiled to himself, grateful that Lance couldn't see him too well in the dark. A not-date with Lance McClain in two weeks' time didn't sound too bad to him. Just as he was about to drop off the precipice into the void of sleep, Lance's drowsy voice floated over once more.

"Goodnight, Keith."

Maybe there was hope for him after all.

"Goodnight, Lance."

~~~

As the days dragged on and the frequency of his and Keith's hangouts increased, Lance found himself beginning to regret making that pact with Keith. Granted, it was literally the day before their promised dinner (not)date, so he couldn't back out, but he was having some serious second thoughts regardless. 

Plus, Keith had mentioned that he liked someone too. Was Lance being wildly inappropriate by sort-of-kind-of asking him out on something that was strictly platonic? It wasn't like his feelings were reciprocated anyways, and Keith spoke pretty highly of this mystery guy. Either Lance's competitor for his crush's heart was a fucking god, or Keith was in deep. To be perfectly truthful, Lance wasn't sure which option he liked less. 

But the way Keith had looked that night... it made Lance's heart wrench. He'd never seen his friend look so hopeless. Truly defeated by the thought that whoever he had feelings for would never feel the same. Which was completely ridiculous, since the idiot was practically the definition of the phrase "a total catch". Lance, however, knew that feeling all too well. God knows it was a hundred times worse when your crush tells you about their crush and how wonderful they are.

And it really sucked. It did. Lance had been rejected time and time again by countless others who saw him as too clingy, too loud, or too much to handle. Keith, on the other hand, was all that he could only ever hope to be. Keith was quick-witted and reserved, with a razor-sharp wit and some of the most stunningly beautiful features he'd ever seen. Keith was everything Lance knew he wasn't, and to hear him speak of himself in such a self deprecating manner was almost too much to bear.

Because if Keith fucking Kogane decided someone was out of his league, then Lance had no hope at all. If Keith Kogane had set his sights on someone that devastatingly amazing, then Lance might as well lock his feelings in a box and throw away the key. The longer he looked inside of himself, the more he wished he'd never met Keith. What he felt for his friend was more intense and omnipresent than anything he'd ever felt for someone else in his entire life.

So going out on a faux date with Keith might very well kill him, because the whole time his thoughts would be focused on how lovely his friend was and how very far out of Lance's grasp he was. His thoughts would be on how marvelously unique and incredibly special Keith was, and how Lance would never be thought of in that way. 

It was odd, really; Lance found that more than anything else, he wanted for Keith to be happy. He wanted to see Keith laugh and smile so big that it lit up his entire face. When he got to glimpse those moments where Keith really let go for a second and just be, it felt like too much. In those moments, Lance was sure his heart would pound right through his ribcage. And if Keith's happiness meant being with someone else, Lance would be okay with that. Because there was nothing more that he wanted than to watch Keith be happy.

But that sure as hell didn't mean he wouldn't put up a fight.

__

Lance's phone buzzed on the table beside his twin bed, rousing him from his thoughts. His eyes flickered down from the ceiling to the screen, noting Pidge's contact name illuminating the surface. 

__

*Edgelord Supreme* 

__

_So Keith ranted to you about his crush?_

__

How convenient. At least Lance was in one of his angsty, introspective moods; it would've kind of sucked to be reminded yet again of how out of his league Keith was in the middle of doing something actually fun. Like jerking off. That would sure kill the mood. 

__

*Lance* 

__

_Yup_

__

_At like two in the morning_

__

_Right after I ranted to him_

__

_ABOUT HIM_

__

*Edgelord Supreme* 

__

_How ironic._

__

_I think you're letting this upset you too much._

__

*Lance* 

__

_You're right_

__

_There is a bright side of Keith never reciprocating my disturbingly intense feelings in a million years!!! I'll never have to buy anniversary gifts!! Yippee!!!_

__

*Edgelord Supreme* 

__

_Jesus CHRIST Lance. Not what I meant._

__

_Ever considered that maybe - just maybe - he likes YOU, dipshit?v_

__

*Lance* 

__

_Well I did_

__

_Up until the whole "my crush is basically Superman incarnate and is the most special person in the world" bit_

__

_He probably has a crush on Shiro or something_

__

*Edgelord Supreme* 

__

_Wow._

__

_I mean, I knew you weren't the brightest before, but this is a whole new level of dumbass._

__

*Lance* 

__

_Geez, don't hype me up too much_

__

_What's the "wow" for?_

__

*Edgelord Supreme* 

__

_Dude._

__

_Shiro is basically Keith's older brother._

__

_They grew up together and have essentially adopted each other into their respective families._

__

_That would basically be incest._

__

_Did you not already know this? I swear Keith's mentioned it once or twice._

__

*Lance* 

__

_Uh, no_

__

_I mean honestly I probably wasn't paying attention_

__

_I kinda zone out a lot if you haven't noticed_

__

_But that's good, at least I don't have to compete with our super-hot professor_

__

*Edgelord Supreme* 

__

_At least you don't have to compete with the brother._

__

_Anyways, that wasn't my point. Like, do you really, truly not see how much you guys flirt?_

__

*Lance* 

__

_Wtf_

__

_No_

__

_I don't think Keith has flirted with me a single time_

__

*Edgelord Supreme* 

__

_Dude, for real?_

__

_You guys are talking like, nonstop whenever you see each other._

__

_You're #2 on his best friends list on Snapchat (don't ask me how I know, I just do)._

__

_Holy fuckballs, do you two do the "longing gaze" thing a lot._

__

_And "rivals", my ass. You two are showing off to each other._

__

*Lance* 

__

_Ok, first of all_

__

_We always talk and snapchat, it's a normal thing that friends do_

__

_I do not do any "longing gaze" thing_

__

_And we're not showing off, we are c o m p e t i n g_

__

*Edgelord Supreme* 

__

_Sure, sure. Whatever you say._

__

_But you guys would make a cute couple._

__

_Actually, that's my one reason why I wouldn't want you guys together. You'd be one of those obnoxiously happy couples that I want to hit with a phonebook 25/8._

__

*Lance* 

__

_Ouch_

__

*Edgelord Supreme* 

__

_Ouch indeed._

__

_But my point is: don't lose hope, young padawan (who's older than I am)._

__

_You've got a pretty solid chance, take my word for it._

__

~~~ 

__

__In the few minutes before Lance was supposed to whisk him off in the Bananamobile and take him to the location of their (unfortunately) platonic dinner to celebrate their perpetual loneliness, Keith found himself huddled over his bathroom sink, analyzing his hair in the mirror._ _

__

__As per Lance's request, he'd dressed nicer than he usually would; after digging through his closet for about ten minutes, he'd found a pair of black dress pants and a crimson button-up. It had been a monumental pain in the ass to roll the sleeves up, but in the end he prevailed against the stubborn cuffs of red fabric. It was more formal than he'd looked in a long time, but he liked the look enough. He hoped Lance would like it too._ _

__

__And then there was the issue of his hair. It really didn't seem to want to cooperate at the moment, which was nothing short of unfair. After desperately running his fingers through the inky-black mess to no avail, he ended up tugging open a drawer from below the sink and fishing around for a hair tie. The resulting low ponytail wasn't actually half bad, and it could almost kind of pass for formal if you tilted your head and squinted (a lot)._ _

__

__He'd even sent a picture of the finished product to Shiro for the final approval and was sent a picture of a proud smile and thumbs-up. It was so in character for him; sometimes Keith wondered if his friend was really a sweet old man trapped inside the body of a guy in his mid-twenties. It had made him smile, though, and he was again reminded of how much he loved Shiro._ _

__

__A loud tap on his front door caused him to look away from the mirror and into the hallway. He took in a deep breath and steeled himself. What if he was overdressed? Underdressed? What if Lance was just kidding and was there to laugh at him? Of course, he knew Lance would never actually do that to anyone. The guy was just too damn nice for that._ _

__

__"Knock, knock," a voice chirped, just as Keith was reaching for the door handle. He rolled his eyes; sometimes it was so hard to take Lance seriously. Of course, he had to fight down the smallest of smiles as he turned the handle._ _

__

__"You know, saying 'knock, knock' is redundant..." His voice trailed off as he swung the door open. In front of him stood Lance, looking more radiant than Keith had ever seen him._ _

__

__His dusky caramel hair was swept ever so slightly to the side, framing his face perfectly. He wore a sapphire button-up with charcoal gray slacks, accentuated by a matching gray bow tie. A faint flush tinted his cheeks and his eyes, intensified by the shirt, had widened ever so slightly upon the opening of the door. Clasped to his chest between two slender hands was a single red rose in full bloom._ _

__

__"Y-you look-" Lance stammered._ _

__

__"You look great, dude," Keith said, and it was completely true. Lance looked astronomical; it was just one of those facts that everyone could agree upon. Like the fact that the sky was blue or that math homework was abysmal. Lance looked stunning._ _

__

__Lance blinked once, as if he didn't believe what Keith was saying. Then he shook his head and shot Keith a cheeky wink, banishing the look of faint surprise from his features altogether. "I could say the same, Mullet. You clean up real nice."_ _

__

__Keith did his best to ignore the little wink before it got the best of him. Jesus Christ, he felt like a character in some shitty romance novel, going all weak-kneed at the sight of his crush in formal(ish) dress. What was he? A fourth grader? "Looks like you actually bothered to take a shower. That's real development right there, McClain."_ _

__

__"For your information, I did take a shower." Lance huffed, though the playful gleam in his eyes betrayed no hurt feelings. "I even put on cologne. Here, see?" He stepped a little closer and held up a forearm for Keith to smell. It was true: the soft smell of tropical fruit with a hint of cinnamon floated through the air._ _

__

__"Very classy," Keith acknowledged. He shot Lance what he hoped was a winning smile and raised his eyebrows. "Truly going full send here, huh?"_ _

__

__Lance pointed a finger gun in his direction and shrugged cheerfully. "Only the best for you, m'dear. And, uh, here. I got this for you." He flushed again and grinned wide enough for the smile to reach his eyes. He held the rose out to Keith, wiggling his eyebrows._ _

__

__"You're such a dork," Keith laughed. He took the rose and went inside, gently laying it on the kitchen counter. "Now, does our glorious chariot await?"_ _

__

__"You know it!"_ _

__

__Once they'd left the campus, Lance had instructed Keith to close his eyes. He'd obliged, though the whole "it's a surprise!" premise was incredibly cliche (although he wouldn't admit it in a million years, it totally suited Lance and was therefore extremely cute). The wind blowing through the open windows of the Bananamobile ruffled his loose strands of hair and allowed for the occasional chill to race down his spine._ _

__

__Lance was singing to some song in rapid-fire Spanish, mouth moving a mile a minute. Keith managed to keep the beat and drummed along to it on his lap, humming along to aid Lance in their car karaoke session. The autumnal night air whistled in his ears every so often, making his nose wrinkle._ _

__

__After about twenty minutes of driving, the van slowed to a stop. "Are you ready?" Lance cheered, unbuckling his seatbelt. "Open your eyes when I say so. One, two, three- now!"_ _

__

__Keith's eyes flicked open and blinked so as to adjust to the difference in lighting. The familiar sign of Altea Diner glowed in front of him and he felt a smile creep up on his face. "Perfect," he said, glancing over at his beaming friend. Lance couldn't have looked prouder of himself, and he was sporting the dorkiest grin in the world. Keith felt his heart melt just the tiniest bit as he unbuckled his seatbelt and moved to open the door._ _

__

__"Hold up, hold up. If we are going on a faux date to celebrate our loneliness, you can be damn sure I will be doing it _right_ ," Lance reminded him. He clambered out of the driver's side and hopped to the ground, dashing around the front of the car to the passenger's side. He proceeded to open the car door for Keith with a grand flourish, bowing as his friend hopped out. _ _

__

__Keith laughed; this guy was too much sometimes. And somehow, he was also just enough. "And they say chivalry is dead," he joked. Lance slung an arm around his shoulders and guided him to the entrance, the smell of mangoes and pineapples gently soaking into the chilly air around them._ _

__

__The bell above the door jingled merrily as they entered the warm restaurant. Coran was there in an instant, his face lighting up with a joyful smile as he came to greet them. "Great to see you again, boys!" he exclaimed. "What brings you here? Lance, you charmer! Is this your date?"_ _

__

__"Ah, not quite," Lance replied, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. "Actually, we made a deal two weeks ago that if the both of us were still in singles' hell, we would go out to celebrate on a date of our own. Platonically, that is," he added, upon receiving a disbelieving look from the older man._ _

__

__"Whatever you say," Coran chimed, though he shot Keith a sly wink. "Sit anywhere you like!" This was rather unnecessary, since their group unfailingly sat in the same booth each time. Keith had now been on numerous occasions, and no matter which members he was with they always were seated in the same spot. He'd even taken Shiro once or twice, and his friend had fallen in love with the diner from the moment he laid eyes on it._ _

__

__As they slid into their usual booth, Lance gestured to their surroundings. "Pretty great non-date location, huh?"_ _

__

__"You are the pinnacle of romance," Keith agreed, eliciting a laugh from his classmate. "Now, like I said, your soda is on me."_ _

__

__"You weren't joking?"_ _

__

__"I may be many things, Lance McClain, but I'm not a liar."_ _

__

__"True," Lance admitted. "You can be a competitive, hot-tempered, socially inept-"_ _

__

__"Shut up and get the goddamn soda."_ _

__

__Lance's mouth twisted into a lopsided grin. "Aye aye, captain." As if on cue, Coran appeared at their table, pad of paper in hand. He twirled his mustache while taking their usual orders - Keith didn't even know people still twirled mustaches in this time period - and gave Lance what seemed to come off as a knowing smile as he retreated to the kitchens._ _

__

__"Coran's pretty great, huh?" Keith asked, watching the man eagerly seat guests and take orders with a never-failing chipper demeanor. It was incredible to watch him handle rude customers and impatient guests with grace and ease- god knew Keith would probably end up hurling spoons at people within the first five minutes._ _

__

__Lance nodded, smiling at the tall figure hurrying around the diner. "Yeah, he's a really cool guy. Sometimes I come here just to talk to him during his breaks. He gives great advice, five stars."_ _

__

__"Advice on what?" Keith teased, smirking. "How to dress like a forty-five year old blind lesbian?"_ _

__

__Lance gave him what may be possibly one of the most exaggerated deadpan stares he's ever received in his entire life. "First off, I have lesbian friends that dress wonderfully. Secondly, which one of us will die of a heart attack if he doesn't wear his fingerless gloves every moment of his life?"_ _

__

__Keith snorted. "You're right. That was an insult to the middle-aged blind lesbians. And they have a purpose, you know."_ _

__

__Lance leaned forward across the table, propping himself up on his elbows. He raised a challenging eyebrow at Keith, who was struggling to keep his breathing regular. Of course Lance had to pull this again. Dressed up, looking all nice, leaning into Keith. His cologne wafted through the air in waves, possibly doing permanent damage to Keith's nervous system. That's what it felt like, anyway. "And what would that be? Please don't tell me you have some really weird fight club fetish."_ _

__

__Keith paused for a minute. A slow smile crept up on his face as an idea sprang into his head. One that might put him back in the running for Lance's attention. Not that he was super immature and wanted to show off to his crush, but he was super immature and wanted to show off to his crush. "Well," he said languidly, relishing in the blatant curiosity painted on his friend's face, "I don't know. It's not that cool."_ _

__

__"Aw, come on," Lance whined. He stuck out his lower lip pleadingly and clasped his hands together. "please, Keith? For me?"_ _

__

__(And damn, if that face wasn't doing it for him.)_ _

__

__"Alright," Keith said noncommittally. He examined a mark on his side of the table, picking at the dent in the wood with a blunt nail. "I'll show you later, if you're up for it. And to quell your fears: I don't have a fight club fetish."_ _

__

__"Challenge accepted, Mullet."_ _

__

__Coran returned, brandishing two drinks and matching burgers. The two smiled gratefully at their waiter, who gave them a whimsical grin before whisking back off into the kitchens. As Lance dug into his burger (where the hell did all that food go? Lance ate like a starving man and yet he was still as lean as ever), Keith sipped lazily on his soft drink. The sweet taste of Cherry Coke chased its way down his throat, bubbling pleasantly on his tongue._ _

__

__~~~_ _

__

__All during the way home, Lance's nerves were alight with some kind of indescribable excitement, buzzing as it coursed its way through his system. It wasn't all that uncommon anymore; his minor (major) crush on Keith had a nasty habit of flustering him whenever said crush was in his immediate vicinity._ _

__

__To keep his anticipation at bay, Lance's mouth worked a mile a minute, filling the cool car air with nervous chatter. He desperately hoped that Keith hadn't picked up on his tendency to run his mouth when under pressure. (But realistically, his friend had noticed that long ago.)_ _

__

__"Okay, would you rather have dicks for fingers or a tongue?"_ _

__

__"Why is this the first conversation starter that popped into your head?"_ _

__

__"I have a very advanced mind, Keithy boy. Answer the question."_ _

__

__A scoff. "Advanced, my ass. but probably fingers, because I could wear mittens or something to hide them."_ _

__

__"I'll ignore that little jab in favor of continuing this discussion. I mean personally, I'd say tongue, because couldn't you just use sign language or something instead of, you know, talking?"_ _

__

__"Fair enough. But really, either one would really, really suck."_ _

__

__Lance snorted, a small puff of air racing from his lungs. "Damn right it would."_ _

__

__Somehow, he managed to make the Bananamobile back to Keith's dorm without flipping the van over or running them into a ditch out of hyperactivity. "So, you feel like showing me this little secret of yours?"_ _

__

__Keith's eyes were ablaze with a fiery determination. It was a look Lance knew well and liked even better; it seemed to make his irises glow with an ethereal light that made his heart beat just a little bit faster. "I'd like nothing more, McClain."_ _

__

__And for some reason, Lance knew that Keith was being completely sincere._ _

__

__Ten minutes later, he stood in front of the dorms, eyes dutifully covered by lithe hands that may or may not have been vibrating with boy-like excitement. He was turned to the street, trying pitifully to chase away the shivers that were whisking up and down his spine. He was just about ready to call out to ask if Keith had ditched him there when the soft sounds of an engine stopped him short._ _

__

__Keith's voice broke out over the low rumble. "Open sesame."_ _

__

__Eyes blinked open and lips dropped open into a shocked "o". Lance blinked once, twice, then shook his head in blatant disbelief. He laughed out loud, pure elation dripping from his voice, and ran a shaky hand through his wild hair._ _

__

“You have a _motorcycle_?” 

__

__Before him, the most beautiful vehicle he'd ever laid eyes on stood purring confidently in a way that sounded almost as if the machine was laughing. It was a vibrant shade of scarlet with red trim, crafted perfectly to be sleek and aerodynamic whilst catching any eye from miles around. In a way, it was perfect for Keith. It fit him like no other._ _

__

__Keith shrugged, grinning. "I told you I had a bike," he said simply._ _

__

__Lance darted over to where his friend stood, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him dramatically. "You made it sound like you were into cycling, asshole! This is the coolest thing I've ever seen! How could you have held out on me with this?"_ _

__

__"So I'm an asshole?" Keith's eyebrows twisted wryly upon Lance's violent head nod. "Too bad. I was going to offer to take you out on a spin on Red, but you obviously don't think highly enough of me for me to do so..."_ _

__

__Lance's eyes fixed on the two helmets that Keith was holding by his side. "I take it back!" He looked at Keith pleadingly, throwing himself at the raven for emphasis. "I'll do anything you want! Please! I'll even let you win at laser tag! I'll scrub down your entire dorm! Anything!"_ _

__

__"Anything?" Keith's voice dropped a little, and a crafty smile worked its way onto his face. "Okay," he said slowly, " we'll go for a ride. And I'll get to thinking on how you'll repent for calling me an asshole."_ _

__

__Lance's hands flew up to catch a jet-black helmet and he slipped it over his head without another word. He watched as Keith straddled the bike, looking comically out of place on it in dress clothes. Nonetheless, the position somehow suited him. The lines of his body flowed gracefully with the motorcycle, the curve of his back arching smoothly in contrast with the seat. "You ready?" Keith asked lowly, eyes lidded in a confident gaze._ _

__

__He inhaled once, a deep breath that filled his chest and whooshed out again into the chilly night air. "You bet," Lance replied, and clambered onto the bike behind him. Wordlessly, Keith's hands worked their way onto his own and placed them tightly around his crimson chest. The black hair that tumbled down his neck grazed Lance's nose ever so slightly as he leaned into his classmate, breathing in deeply to calm his pounding heart. The idea of whizzing through the streets at night on this scarlet devil seemed slightly less safe as it had before._ _

__

__As if he'd sensed Lance's fresh wave of nervousness, Keith's voice pierced through the air. "It's okay. I know what I'm doing." He turned his head slightly, allowing Lance to catch a glimpse of a reassuring smile. "I won't let you get hurt. I promise." Lance nodded sheepishly, face warming rapidly._ _

__

__"I trust you," he whispered into Keith's neck._ _

__

__And with a final lingering kiss of cold autumn air, the engine roared to life and shot into the night. Lance held onto Keith tighter than anything he'd ever held before, heart thumping in his chest and blood pounding in his ears. The wind seemed to move around them, making way for the speed demon and its passengers. They raced through intersection after intersection, shops and taillights reduced to colorful blurs._ _

__

__Honestly, if Lance was going to die, this would be the best way to go. The wind snapped around them, turning his hands cold as he sucked breath after breath into his lungs. Keith's heart was pounding too; Lance could feel it as he clung to his friend for dear life. Every time they whipped around a corner, every time the bike leaned over so that Lance could see the pavement, he pressed his face into Keith's back a little closer._ _

__

__Exhilaration flew through his veins and he let out a whooping cry into the night air. He could picture himself becoming addicted to this feeling. Never before had he felt so unrestrained, so free. Keith had the opportunity to feel this every day, and he'd chosen to share this feeling with Lance. Not Hunk, or Pidge, or Allura. Lance._ _

__

__When they'd finally reached the end of their joyride and Lance's feet were back on solid ground, he had no idea of how much time had passed. Aftershocks of excitement still ran hot through his veins and he pulled his helmet off with an elated grin. When Keith did the same, an affectionate thrill caused a wide grin to work its way onto his face. His friend's hair was wild and clung to the corners of his face. He wore the same crazed look that Lance knew he had on and was smiling just as widely. This was one of his moments where he was free, where he truly allowed himself to break out of the hardened exterior._ _

__

__In this moment, Lance was deeper in _whatever this was_ than he'd ever been._ _

__

__"Wow," he breathed. He studied his hands, which were shaking of their own accord. His breaths came in short puffs of air in and out, and he felt a laugh bubbling up from his chest. He looked down at his fancy clothes, windblown and wrinkled from the ride. Keith's clothes hadn't escaped the treatment either, and his hair was fully freed from his ponytail._ _

__

__"Wow," Keith echoed._ _

__

__Looking back on that moment, it was all Lance could do to plead the fifth: temporary insanity brought on by the near-death (or, it'd seemed like near-death) experience that he'd just been given. His feet moved on their own, carrying him closer to Keith and closing the five-foot gap between them. The distance had closed to no more than a foot and a half, and Lance was well-aware that he'd breached the metaphorical "personal bubble"._ _

__

__"So," he said quietly, "we have our deal. You can do anything to me that you'd like. Wait, that sounded really sex slave-y. You can do anything you'd like within reason. Does that sound-"_ _

__

__"God," Keith gritted out, "shut up."_ _

__

__And with that, he closed the gap entirely, pressing his lips to Lance's in what could only be described as a searing kiss. In a split second, every nerve ending in Lance's body was set on fire. Keith's lips were softer than he could've ever imagined (and he'd imagined plenty of times), a stark contrast to his generally wild-looking exterior. And then, a shift in his head; a realization._ _

__

__He is kissing Keith._ _

__

___He is kissing Keith._ _ _

__

Lance hurriedly conjured up all prior experiences of kissing know-how and decided to bring his hands up to the base of Keith's neck, leaning further into the kiss and wrapping his arms around his strong neck. He broke away from the kiss to gasp before plunging in a second time, savoring every second of this heaven that he can. Keith tasted sweet and cinnamon-y and so incredibly like _him_ that Lance had to take a second to gather his brain before Keith is whipping backwards, pulling on his helmet, and jumping onto his bike without a word. 

__

__Lance didn't even get the opportunity to hand him his helmet before Keith sped off once again into the darkness of a cold autumn night._ _

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was this okay? I know, it's kinda all over the place. I'll be way more consistent, my apologies!!!!


End file.
